AN 
ENEMY 

TO 
SOCIETY 


GEORGE 

BRONSON- 
HOWARD. 


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J.  W.Sdiofieldf 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/enemytosocietyroOObroniala 


AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 


*His    presence   seemed    to   dwarf   them   into   men   oj 
mean  stature" 


AN  ENEMY 
TO  SOCIETY 


A  ROMANCE   OF  NEW  YORK 
OF  YESTERDAY  AND  TO-DAY 


BY 


GEORGE  BRONSON  HOWARD 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  ARTHUR  S.  COVEY 


Garden  City         New  York 

DOUBLEDAY.  PAGE   &  COMPANY 

1911 


ALL  RIGHTS  KESEKVED,  IMCLUDINO  THAT  OF    TRANSLATION 
INTO  rORKION  LANGUAGES,  INCLDDINO  THE  SCANDINAVIAN 


COTYRIGHT,   I9II,    BY  DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  *  COUFANY 
COPYRIGHT,  I9II,  BY  STREET  k  SIOTH 


SRCfi 
URU 


To 
Chables  Agnew  MacLban 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTEB  PAGE 

I.    A  Son  is  Bobn  to  the  House  of  Janissabt  .  3 

1.  What  the  Public  Thought  of  It 

2.  What  Stephen  Janissary  Thought 

n.    The  House  of  "The  Wolf" 13 

ni.    Eably  Recollections 29 

1.  The  Training  of  the  Youth 

2.  Little  Thieves  and  Big  Ones 

3.  The  First  Theft 

rV.    In  Mid-Atlantic 55 

1.  Stephen  Janissary  Has  Memories 

2.  Decima  Duress 

8.     "Marked  Cards!" 
4-    Mr.  Janissary  Becomes  the  Almoner 
of  the  Poor 

V.    The  New  Frankenstein .        99 

1.  At  Police  Headquarters. 

2.  Visions  in  the  Fire 

3.  The  Vultures 

4.  At  "Canary's" 


THAPTEB  PAGE 

VI.    TheSpideb 171 

1.  Introducing  Common  Folk  to  Their 

Master 

2.  The  Silent  Messenger 

VII.    Destiny's  Magic  Wheel 208 

1.  "I  Will  Repay" 

2.  Decima  Piles  Ossa  on  Pelion 

VIII.    Belshazzab  Feasts 230 

1.  Stephen  Buckles  on  His  Armour 

2.  The  Heir  of  the  House  Returns  to  It 
S.    Grandfather  Goose  Cries  Quits  with 

"The  Wolf" 
4.    The  Second  Messenger  Speaks 

IX.    The  Fear 285 

X.    The  Head  of  the  House  Departs  from  It       306 

XI.    "  To  Those  FROM  Whence  it  Came '*  ...      313 

1 .  Canby  Kernahan  Interviews  E^iason 

2.  "  To  Set  the  People  Free  " 

XII.    At  the  Hunting  Chalet 846 


V 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"His   presence  seemed  to  dwarf  them  into  men  of 

mean  stature" Frontispiece 

rACMG  PACK 

"  Quackenbos  followed  the  palsied  finger  that  shook 

as  it  pointed " 26 

**  *  Don't  let  me  hear  another  peep  out  of  you  about 

me'" 168 

"  *  Made  me  a  pauper,  didn't  you?     Well,  I've  made 

your  son  a  thief*" 282 


AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 


An  Enemy  to  Society 

CHAPTER  I 

A  SON  IS  BORN  TO  THE  HOUSE  OF 
JANISSARY 

I 

WHAT    THE    PUBLIC    THOUGHT    OF   IT 

SNOW  and  sleet  in  Washington  Square  when  Betsy, 
bundle  girl  for  Madame  Francesca,  climbed  on  the 
blue  omnibus  that  emerged  from  the  foggy  mist,  the  horses 
that  drew  it  veritable  fire-breathing  dragons  with  their 
snorts  and  their  smoke.  A  vista  of  soggy  black  earth  with 
a  few  snow  patches,  gutters  running  aimless  zigzag  streams, 
water  dropping  drearily  from  the  black  skeletons  of  trees, 
and  fantastically  decorated  chimney-pots  where  a  flake  or 
two  had  persuaded  other  flakes  to  stop  and  keep  them  com- 
pany —  that  was  Washington  Square  at  four  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon  of  February  7,  1888. 

There  was  no  room  for  Betsy  inside  the  'bus,  so  she  must 
climb  to  the  top,  unmindful  of  sleet  and  snow,  and  try  as 
best  she  could  to  cover  the  precious  paper  box  she  carried 
with  her  shaggy  shawl;  for  pasteboard  gives  readily  to 
moisture,  and  moisture  is  not  a  good  thing  for  basques  of 

s 


4  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

French  sateen  that  a  lady  in  Madison  Square  has  sent 
for  several  times  and  is  very  angry  because  she  has  not 
received  sooner. 

But  a  bundle  girl  is  accustomed  to  such  trifles  as  numb 
hands  and  continual  colds  in  the  head,  so  Betsy  does  not 
really  mind;  except  that  she  wishes  these  rich  folk  would 
not  leave  their  curtains  undone,  for  it  always  makes  bundle 
girls  remember  they  are  cold  when  they  see  grate  fires,  like 
rubies  in  colour  but  far  more  precious,  winking  and  sputter- 
ing at  them  across  damp  spaces,  with  their  little  white 
sisters,  the  candles,  reaching  out  their  long  witch  faces 
across  polished  mahogany. 

Great  houses  these;  houses  with  front  steps  so  high  that 
the  basement  is  not  really  a  basement  at  all  but  a  first  floor; 
very  nice  for  those  in  service,  there,  reflects  Betsy,  because 
basements  are  damp  no  matter  how  big  a  fire  you  build, 
and  these  rich  people  don't  understand  that  the  kitchen 
fire  won't  heat  the  whole  of  it;  houses  with  iron  balconies, 
where  in  summer,  Betsy  remembers,  young  ladies  in  muslins 
sat  and  laughed  with  young  men  in  very  wide  white  trousers 
and  very  narrow  black  jackets;  houses  with  a  beautiful 
little  green  tree  on  either  side  of  the  door-way,  the  kind 
that  didn't  care  about  the  cold  and  grew  just  as  bravely 
in  winter  as  in  summer,  and  that  had  such  a  nice, 
Christmassy  smell. 

Now  the  straining  horses  cease  to  slip  on  the  sleety 
street,  but  trot  erectly  and  take  their  steps  with  confidence; 
the  lumbering  'bus  rolls  as  though  upon  a  magic  carpet; 
the  'busman  shifts  his  reins  to  a  hand  he  takes  from  a  warm 
pocket,  peering  over  the  side. 


A  SON  IS  BORN  TO  THE  HOUSE  5 

"Tan  bark,"  he  says,  between  expectorations.  "Huh! 
Some  big  bug  sick,  I  reckon." 

Betsy  has  no  fear  of  the  many-caped  coachman;  he  has 
been  her  charioteer  before. 

"What's  tan  bark,  Mr.  McCune?" 

"Thar  'tis,  younker;  oceans  on  oceans  on't.  Leather 
'tis.  Sich  as  th'  use  in  the  shoes  th'  sell  us  folk  —  durn 
'em.    Leather  shavin's.     See?" 

And,  indeed,  the  entire  block  seems  a  light  brown,  for 
the  tan  bark  hasn't  been  down  long  enough  for  it  to  get  wet 
and  black.  Many  shiny  rigs  —  doctors'  seemingly  —  stand 
before  a  great  square  house,  behind  the  iron  railing  of  which 
Betsy  knows  are  lilac  and  jasmine  and  other  sweet  smelling 
flowers  in  more  clement  weather  —  though  it  is  doubtful 
if  she  has  one  of  their  botanical  appellations  correctly. 

A  massive  house  —  the  house  of  a  family,  the  beginning 
of  a  dynasty;  castle-like,  built,  one  imagines,  with  the  fear 
of  assault  upon  its  projector;  pillared  and  porticoed;  its 
windows  and  doors  double  and  deeply  set  in  brown  stone. 

Mr.  McCune  stops  his  'bus  at  the  corner;  a  passenger 
stands  waiting.  Now  he  is  on  the  roof  and  the  'bus  jogs 
on  again. 

"Big  Steve's  got  a  son,"  the  passenger  tells  the  conductor. 
The  passenger  is  in  livery  and  wears  a  cockade  in  his  hat. 

"Big  Steve,  eh?  Well!  Well!  Time!  And  how's  th' 
missus  bearin'  up,  eh?" 

"Tollable.     It's  a  great  thing  for  her.    She  knows!" 

"Knows  what?"  asks  Mr.  McCune,  ponderously  resent- 
ing the  lackey's  tone;  for  he  is  a  man  who  stops  his  horses 
when  he  sees  ladies  are  afraid  to  cross  in  front  of  them. 


6  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"Knows  the  story  of  Napolyun  and  Joseyfeen,*'  replies 
the  man  with  the  cockade  impudently.  "Big  Steve's  all 
set  up  'bout  it  now;  nothin's  too  good  fer  her.  A  son  — 
see?  He'll  be  Stephen  Janissary  3d,  he  will.  Great  doin's 
ter-night.    Know  where  I'm  goin'?" 

"An*  a  fat  lot  I  care,"  mutters  Mr.  McCune,  but  the 
conductor  hangs  upon  the  cockaded  man's  words  and  so 
does  Betsy. 

"Delmonico's,  that's  where.  Del's!  Big  Steve's  a-givin' 
a  birthday  party  for  his  son  —  first  birthday,  see?  Har,  har!" 

He  nudges  the  conductor's  ribs  and  that  official  laughs 
politely,  and  Betsy  does  the  best  she  can  with  her  shrill 
treble.    Mr.  McCune  only  grunts. 

"I've  got  my  orders,"  continued  the  cockaded  man,  swell- 
ing in  importance.  "Private  room  overlookin'  the  square. 
Table  for  —  for  —  thirty !  All  the  big  bugs  in  town,  you  bet. 
Nothin'  scrimping  'bout  Big  Steve.    He  says  to  me " 

"He  says  to  you,  he  says,"  remarks  Mr.  McCune, 
"here  you!  Take  this  letter  to  th'  head  waiter  at 
Delmonniker's  and  git  a  move  on.  Thet's  what  he  said 
to  you.  An'  you  about  heard  h  m  tell  somebody  he  was 
givin'  a  dinner." 

Defeated,  the  man  with  the  cockade  can  only  sneer: 

"Oh!  you  know  a  lot,  you  do;  now  don't  you?" 

"I  know  a  fool  when  I  see  one,"  replies  Mr.  McCune. 
"Gid-dap  there,  you  Grover  Cleveland,  gid-dap!" 

"Four  doctors  that  kid  had,  mind  you,"  continues  Mr. 
Cockade  in  a  tone  that  plainly  excludes  Mr.  McCune  from 
the  conversation.  "Four  of  'em.  An'  th'  one  in  charge's 
Doc  Griffony  —  th'  one  that  charges  five  thousand  plunks 


A  SON  IS  BORN  TO  THE  HOUSE  7 

jest  to  be  there.  An'  a  trained  nurse  fer  th'  missus,  and 
*nuther  fer  th'  kid,  an'  then  'nuther  jest  t'  help  th'  other 
two.  An  all  of  us  git  our  orders  to  watch  sharp  fer  th'  bell 
case  we're  needed." 

Flattered  by  Betsy's  wide-open  eyes  he  bestows  upon 
her  a  little  lofty  attention. 

"You  can  well  lissen.  Guess  that's  kinda  different  from 
the  way  you  was  brought  inta  th'  world,  hey?" 

"I  dunno,"  Betsy  replies  shyly.  The  shining  hat  and  the 
cockade  demand  great  respect  and  she  gives  it. 

"  I  guess,"  she  adds,  plucking  up  courage  as  she  sees  he 
looks  on  her  tolerantly.  "  I  guess  it  was  like  when  the  other 
kids  come.  Pop  says,  'Nuther  brat';  and  ma,  she  kinda 
looks  tired,  and  she  says,  *Nuther  mouth  to  feed.*  Guess 
it  was  the  same  with  me.     I'm  th'  fourth." 

Seeing  that  she  has  made  no  pronounced  impression  as 
a  narrator,  she  subsides,  blushing:     "Excuse  me.'* 

"That's  all  right.  Come  round  th'  back  way  sometime 
and  I'll  show  you  th'  cups  an'  spoons  th'  people  sent  him. 
I  shine  th'  silver,  I  do.  Well,  so  long.  So  long,  stick-in- 
the-mud.    Needn't  stop  your  old  plugs  fer  me." 

Mr.  McCune,  for  whom  this  flattering  address  is  intended, 
does  not  hear  him,  nor  does  he  know  that  Cockade  has  gone 
until  he  sees  his  shadow  reflected  on  the  slippery  pavement 
in  the  lights  from  Delmonico's  restaurant. 

"Pomp  and  pride,"  mutters  Mr.  McCune.  "Tan  bark 
and  teetotal  tarnation.  No  good'U  come  of  't.  Too  many 
starvin'  fer  th'  price  of  that  tan  bark.     Pomp  and  pride." 

"Oh,  sir,"  Betsy  begs,  "you  don't  think  any  harm'U  go 
to  th'  baby  'cause  they  spent  that  money  on  him,  do  you.'*" 


8  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"Pomp  and  pride,"  mutters  Mr.  McCmie,  somewhat  at 
a  loss.  "Pomp  and  pride  —  they  have  their  fall.  Don't 
th'  Good  Book  say  so,  younker?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  returns  Betsy,  frightened  that  she  has  dis- 
played heretical  leanings.  "Yes,  sir,  they  do.  And  please 
Mr.  McCune,  you've  taken  me  past  my  block." 


n 


WHAT   STEPHEN  JANIS8AKY  THOUGHT 

Well  might  he  be  called  "Big  Steve."  As  he  stands  now, 
his  coat  tails  flapping  energetically  and  fanning  the  fire, 
his  head  overtops  the  tallest  candle  in  the  tallest  candle- 
stick on  the  mantel  of  carved  mahogany  behind  him  —  a 
good  two  inches  above  six  feet  in  his  common-sense,  flat- 
heeled,  broad-toed  boots,  but  of  a  breadth  corresponding, 
consequently  lacking  the  appearance  of  great  height. 
One  feels  sure  he  has  a  valet  —  no  man  in  his  position  would 
dare  be  without  one  —  but  is  equally  certain  that  the 
man's  position  is  almost  an  honorary  one,  for  while  Janis- 
sary is  carefully  dressed  it  is  in  commonplace  fashion;  his 
clothes  of  that  hard-faced  cloth  advertised  as  suitable  for 
business  wear;  his  collar  what  those  of  the  last  two  dec- 
ades called  a  "choker,"  his  black  neck-tie  ambitious  to 
ride  over  it. 

He  is  not  what  our  English  cousins  are  pleased  to  term 
a  "gentleman";  no  niceties  of  grooming,  no  clean-cutness 
of  limb  or  feature  —  the  limbs  large  but  ungainly,  the 
features  strong   but   roughhewn.     And   yet,  no    common 


A  SON  IS  BORN  TO  THE  HOUSE  9 

man,  no  newly  rich  person;  there  is  about  him  too  imholy 
a  pride,  a  manner  so  peremptory  that  it  cannot  be  mistaken 
for  other  than  that  of  a  man  accustomed  to  command. 

A  curious  mixture,  this  Stephen  Janissary,  the  second 
generation  of  an  American  family,  lacking  education  be- 
cause of  the  mistaken  idea  once  prevalent  among  rich  men 
that  "Their  sons  should  begin  as  they  did  and  earn  their 
way  as  they  went  along."  Hence  for  amusement,  he  read 
Mr.  Sylvanus  Cobb's  "Gunmaker  of  Moscow"  and  other 
novels  of  the  Ledger  variety  and  found  Thackeray  tiresome; 
and  though  his  home  was  a  treasure  house  of  precious 
china,  silver,  and  furniture,  not  one  picture  on  his  walls  would 
have  fetched  more  than  a  twenty-dollar  note  under  the 
auctioneer's  hammer.  There  was  not  even  a  grand  piano; 
in  its  place  stood  an  ordinary  cottage  organ  on  which  he 
picked  out  by  ear,  hymn  tunes  peculiar  to  the  religious 
sect  to  which  he  gave  his  patronage,  and  sometimes  the  airs 
that  boys  whistled  in  the  streets.  When  a  street  piano 
passed  beneath  his  window,  he  would  slyly  toss  coins  into 
the  monkey's  cap  that  the  monkey's  master  might  exhaust 
his  repertoire  for  him. 

At  fifteen  he  had  been  sent  as  supercargo  on  one  of  the 
Janissary  coffee  clippers  —  the  fast  sailing  boats  that  ran 
between  B.io  and  Baltimore  —  and  had  learned  how  to 
circumvent  dishonest  shippers  who  prepared  false  manifests, 
drunken  captains  who  accepted  bribes,  and  picaroonish 
crews  who  pilfered  to  supply  small  ship  chandlers  with  their 
stock.  He  had  put  his  nose  to  the  grindstone  then,  and  had 
never  taken  it  away.  Coffee,  tea,  sugar,  and  spices  —  all 
that  there  was  to  know   of  them  he  knew;   but  to  that 


10  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

knowledge  he  had  sacrificed  all  his  youth  and  all  the  pleasure 
that  should  be  the  heritage  of  one  born  wealthy.  He  had 
married  the  daughter  of  his  father's  partner,  and  with  the 
death  of  both  the  old  gentlemen,  the  firm  ceased  to  be 
"Janissary  and  Mellish,"  and  became  "Stephen  Janissary 
and  Son." 

And  there  lay  the  pathos  of  it.  How  ardently  had  he 
desired  a  son,  firmly  believing  that  Heaven  must  obey  him 
as  men  did;  that  it  could  not  long  refuse  to  send  him  one; 
but  the  years  had  passed  unfruitful;  he  had  long  become 
estranged  from  his  wife;  had  even  abandoned  his  religion, 
and,  freed  from  that  wholesome  check,  had  taken  such 
coarse  pleasures  as  an  uneducated  man  of  his  type  was 
likely  to  find. 

It  is  not  incredible  for  those  who  know  the  man  to  believe 
that  Stephen  Janissary  would  have  been  capable  of  cold- 
blooded murder  had  he  believed  he  was  never  to  have  a  son 
by  his  wife.  Divorce  she  had  firmly  refused,  and  the  faded 
Lavender  Lady  was  beyond  reproach. 

And  now  —  it  had  come! 

His  secretary  sat  before  him.  A  rare  bottle  of  old 
port,  part  of  the  stock  that  the  first  Stephen  Janissary  had 
laid  down  during  the  Mexican  war,  stood  on  the  massive 
mahogany  table,  resting  upon  a  silver  tray  and  surrounded 
by  the  most  fragile  of  glasses.  The  man  servant  had 
brought  it,  poured  two  glasses,  and  had  gone  out;  that  was 
half  an  hour  before  and  still  the  secretary  had  not  dared 
touch  his  glass. 

There  had  been  absolute  silence  in  the  room,  save  for 
the  crackle  of  the  burning  logs  in  the  fireplace  and  the  drip 


A  SON  IS  BORN  TO  THE  HOUSE  11 

of  the  melted  sleet  from  the  cornices  and  window  ledges 
without.  Stephen  had  been  dreaming  of  a  world  conquest 
that  his  son  would  carry  on;  dreaming  in  teas,  coffees,  sugars, 
and  spices,  because  that  was  all  he  knew,  but  vaguely  aware 
that  that  fragile  bit  of  manhood  up  stairs  would  dream  in 
other  values,  and  carry  on  what  he  had  carried  far. 

Now  he  crossed  to  the  table  and  lifted  his  glass.  The 
secretary  would  have  given  a  toast.  Stephen  Janissary 
stopped  him. 

"No,  not  now!'* 

He  knew  the  secretary  would  dare  toast  no  other  thing 
at  that  time  in  that  house. 

"The  figures  man,  the  figures?" 

The  secretary  halted,  puzzled,  and  repeated  the  words 
interrogatively;  they  were  thundered  at  him  again. 

"You're  paid,  and  paid  well  —  to  understand  —  me! 
My  fortune!    You  know  the  figures!    Exactly!" 

"  It's  a  thing  to  ask,  Mr.  Janissary.  A  thing  I  ask  myself 
every  day.  How  could  I  know?  You  buy  real  estate; 
you  buy  and  the  values  keep  increasing;  railroads  and 
street  car  lines  change  values.  It  is  too  much  to  ask,  sir. 
To-morrow,  if  you  wish,  I  will  calculate.  But  exactly  — 
not  even  then.     I  always  do  my  best,  sir.'* 

It  was  a  statement  at  which  no  one  could  take  umbrage; 
there  was  too  much  flattery  in  it. 

"But  five  millions  —  it  is  easily  five  millions,  eh,  Elia« 
son?    Easily  that?" 

"As  you  say,  sir,  quite  easily  that.    If  you  had  said " 

"You  should  have  known  I  was  no  fool.  But  —  Duress? 
He  is  worth  that  you  think?" 


W  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"Not  that,  Mr.  Janissary.  Half  that,  perhaps.  Not 
more." 

"We  must  amalgamate.    No  help  for  that,  eh,  Eliason?" 

"As  you  say,  sir;  he  controls  all  the  grocery  trade  that 
we  do  not.  They  are  the  things  we  do  not  sell.  If  you 
contemplate  invading  the  retail  trade " 

"As  I  must.  The  money  is  there.  We  want  no  middle- 
men. Sell  the  public  direct.  Get  all  the  money,  Eliason. 
All  the  money.  For  the  boy!  Stephen  Janissary  3d. 
Stephen  Janissary  and  Son,  Eliason." 

"As  you  say,  sir." 

"Duress  has  been  begging.  Ben  Duress  —  beg^ng  me! 
The  aristocrat,  Eliason.  He  wouldn't  have  me  in  his 
house  —  no,  not  even  now.  The  Duresses  —  great  people, 
the  Duresses,  eh?  But  he'  1  invite  me  to  his  house  if  I'm 
his  partner,  eh,  Eliason?  And  the  boy  —  Stephen  Janis- 
sary 3d.  There'll  be  a  Duress  girl,  eh?  A  marriage?  I 
married  old  Mellish's  daughter  —  why  not?  I  married 
her,  the  —  but  she's  his  mother  now.  The  boy's  mother. 
So  you  write  to  Duress  to-night,  Eliason." 

And  again  the  formula: 

"As  you  say,  sir!" 

Stephen  Janissary  raised  his  glass  to  his  lips. 

"To  Janissary  and  Duress,  Eliason." 

He  laughed  cunningly. 

"Don't  look  surprised,  man;  it'll  all  be  Stephen  Janissary 
3d  soon  enough." 

He  filled  the  glasses  quickly: 

"The  boy. ' 


CHAPTER  II 
THE  HOUSE  OF  "THE  WOLF" 

HIS  name  was  not  Wulf  Axtell  at  all;  Axtell,  maybe  — 
none  knew;  but  "Wolf"  was  a  sobriquet  bestowed 
upon  him  by  his  companions,  and,  with  his  customary 
regard  for  little  details,  in  adopting  the  "  monaker,"  he  made 
the  necessary  alterations  in  vowels  so  that  it  might  sound 
like  a  real  name. 

Somewhere  (no  doubt  in  many  places)  it  has  been 
remarked  that  the  countenance  of  every  human  being 
has  a  resemblance  to  that  of  some  particular  animal,  a 
certain  trait  of  a  certain  beast  being  so  predominant  in 
each  that  the  analogy  cannot  be  missed.  Certainly  this 
was  true  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Axtell. 

But  he  was  a  lame  wolf;  an  affliction  possessed  him. 
When  he  walked  abroad  it  was  with  the  assistance  of  a 
knotted  timber  of  teak,  weighted  heavily  with  lead  on  one 
end  and  with  a  golden  knob  for  a  handle.  As  each  foot 
was  advanced,  it  trembled  violently  before  it  was  set  down. 
The  Wolf  was  paying  for  his  early  excesses;  he  could 
never  be  cured. 

The  hand  of  fate  had  fallen  thus  heavily  upon  him  when 
he  was  in  his  criminal  prime  —  a  well  set  up  man  of  thirty- 
five,  distinguished  slightly  by  hair  grayed  at  the  temples 
and  eyes  cold  and  indifferent  —  a  man  who  would  have 

13 


14  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

laughed  after  a  murder  if  the  corpse  at  his  feet  twitched 
into  some  grotesque  position. 

In  September,  1890,  if  you  had  followed  Waverly  Place 
into  Sixth  Avenue,  where  the  little  smoky,  toy  engines 
dragged  long  lines  of  cars  above  you  —  pygmies  on  a  giant's 
job  —  and  had  continued  your  course  a  few  blocks  down 
town,  you  would  have  come  to  Chapel  Street  and  found  a 
stone's  throw  from  the  avenue,  ruined  remnants  of  what 
had  once  been  a  stone  temple  of  worship  for  members  of 
the  Dutch  Reformed  faith.  The  chapel  had  long  ceased 
to  serve  the  purpose  for  which  it  was  intended  so  it  had  been 
let  out  to  Schramm,  who  painted  scenery  for  theatres  and 
found  it  an  excellent  place  to  stretch  his  wide  canvases. 

Next  door,  and  built  of  the  same  gray  stone,  stood  the 
dominie's  house;  but  they  had  rectors  now,  and  so  equally 
with  the  chapel,  it  had  ceased  to  be  of  service,  and  it  was 
rented  for  a  purpose,  the  hearing  of  which  would  have 
provoked  somersaults  from  the  skeletons  of  Cortlandts  and 
Ten  Eycks,  Roosevelts,  and  Van  Rennselaers.  For  the 
House  of  the  Dominie  had  become  the  House  of  "  The 
Wolf." 

In  and  out  of  it  slouched  fellows  of  listless  bearing  and 
drawn  expressions  about  the  eyes,  some  resplendent  in  rai- 
ment too  fashionable  to  be  in  good  form,  others  with  caps  and 
derbies  tilted  over  eyes  that  never  met  the  gaze  of 
honester   men. 

Supported  on  the  arm  of  Hilary  Quackenbos,  The  Wolf 
came  out  on  an  afternoon  of  that  September  and  walked 
as  far  as  Van  Tromp's  grocery  which  stood  at  the  comer 
of  Chapel  Street  and  Sixth  Avenue.    It  was  an  idiosyncrasy 


THE  HOUSE  OF  "THE  WOLF"  15 

of  Axtell's  to  chew  spices,  and  Van  Tromp  kept  always  a 
certain  fine  brand. 

"You'll  hear  the  same  infernal  story,"  remarked  Quacken- 
bos,  in  a  tired  tone.  "It  wearies  me,  dear  old  chap.  It 
is  the  Thousand  and  One  Nights  with  the  thousand  stories 
left  out.     Tiling  it  up,  piling  it  up.'  " 

He  abruptly  mimicked  the  tones  of  a  querulous  man. 

"'Robbers  and  thieves,'"  he  continued.  "'Oppressors 
of  the '" 

"Why  hear  it  twice.'"  asked  Axtell. 

"I  can't  understand,"  complained  the  Englishman,  "why 
you  hear  it  at  all.  Day  after  day  for  the  past  month,  you 
have  stood  and  listened  attentively  while  he  poured  out 
the  story  of  his  bally  wrongs.  It  gives  me  the  hump;  'pon 
my  soul  it  does." 

"Too  bad;  too  bad";  condoled  Axtell,  in  tones  that  sig- 
nalled danger.  He  drew  the  tall,  thin  Englishman  in  the 
shabby  clothes  nearer  the  shop  front  where  old-fashioned 
wares  were  displayed  in  an  old-fashioned  way. 

Behind  the  counter,  Balthazar  van  Tromp  sat  reading 
the  Evening  Post.  He  did  not  understand  the  Evening 
Post  in  the  slightest,  but  he  took  it  because  it  had  been 
taken  by  his  predecessor  of  many  years  before,  and  he  was 
a  man  who  disliked  change.  He  had  begun  his  life  as  errand 
boy  for  the  grocer  who  had  reigned  before  him;  all  his  life 
had  been  spent  on  the  corner  of  Sixth  Avenue  and  Chapel 
Street,  and  to  his  knowledge,  and  with  his  consent,  nothing 
had  been  changed  in  forty  years. 

He  was  an  undersized  man,  far  older  in  appearance  than 
his  age  of  fifty-five  warranted,  and  untidy  in  appearance. 


16  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

From  a  mole  on  his  cheek,  there  grew  four  hairs  that  had 
resolved  themselves  into  a  ringlet,  so  industriously  had  he 
curled  them  about  his  finger  for  many  years. 

At  the  appearance  of  Axtell  and  his  companion,  he  gave 
them,  "good  day"  in  a  tone  that  was,  for  him,  cordial, 
and  went  immediately  to  the  japanned-tin  compartment 
where  he  kept  the  spices  that  were  Wulf  Axtell's  favourites. 

"Quarter  pound  as  usual,  I  reckon:    HAY?" 

He  had  a  fashion  of  mumbling  his  words  and  trying  to 
make  up  the  average  volume  of  each  sentence  by  shouting 
the  last  word. 

Axtell  nodded  pleasantly.  One  of  the  many  wonders 
about  him,  to  Quackenbos,  was  his  treatment  of  old  Van 
Tromp,  his  imvarying  courtesy  and  marvellous  patience. 

"Here,  I  saved  this  fer  you  to  look  at,  Mester  Axtell," 
he  said,  hopping  forward,  a  gait  inevitable  to  shopkeepers 
hurrying  in  small  spaces.  '*  *Nuther  good  stand  gobbled 
up  by  them  pirates.  Piling  it  up,  always  piling  it  up. 
And  nuthing  ain't  done  to  them  though  they  takes  it  *out 
of  the  mouths  of  babes  and  sucklings,'  as  Holy  Writ  says 
ain't  to  be  done  under  no  circumstances.  *Out  of  the  mouths 
of  babes  and  sucklings'  —  I  remember  them  words  well. 
And  looka  here/" 

The  paragraph  he  had  annotated  was  in  the  accounts  of 
real-estate  transfers,  and  notified  the  public  of  a  change  in 
the  leasehold  of  Darius  Benrimo  and  Son,  retail  grocers,  at 
Broadway  and  a  street  in  the  Twenties,  the  new  proprietors 
being  Janissary  and  Duress. 

"And  you  know  how  they  done  it,  gentlemen;  jest  like 
they're  doing  to  me  now.     Underselling,  underselling  and 


THE  HOUSE  OF  "THE  WOLF"  17 

losing  until  they  hev  run  t'other  fellow  outa  business  and 
made  him  sell  his  stand  for  most  nothing,  and  then  putting 
prices  back  where  they  was  and  piling  it  up,  piling  it  up, 
'til  it  don't  seem  that  the  Heavens  kin  be  no  higher.  Look 
how  the  foks  round  here  run  all  the  ways  upta  Greenwich 
Street  'cause  that  store  of  ther'n  sells  fresh,  home-made 
butter  fer  twenty  cents  a  pound.  Gen'lmen,  there  ain't 
no  profit  kin  be  got  by  selling  at  no  twenty  cents  a  pound  — 
it  costs  more'n  that.  And  sugar  —  fine  gran'lated  —  same 
thing  —  four'n  half  cents.     Can't  be  done,  gen'lmen.     And 

he's  piling  it " 

"Whom  do  you  mean  by  *he'?"  asked  Axtell,  although 
he  had  a  plethora  of  knowledge  on  the  subject,  and  Quacken- 
bos  groaned,  for  he  knew  the  monologue  that  would  follow. 
'*!  thought  you  said  the  firm  was  Janissary  and  Duress?" 
"That's  what  it's  called"  said  Van  Tromp  in  fine 
contempt.  "  But  it's  Janissary  —  Big  Steve  Janissary.  Oh, 
I  seen  him  down  here  looking  over  this  stand  a  year  ago 
and  then  I  felt  sick;  but  I  says,  'No,  Balthazar,  the  Lord 
takes  care  of  them  that  holds  Him  in  fear  and  trembling 
and  passes  the  plate  in  His  house  every  other  Sunday.* 
But,  no!'* 

He  pulled  at  the  ringlet  until  he  seemed  to  be  dragging 
the  mole  from  his  face;  his  eyes  lit  up  with  the  fury  of  a 
fanatic. 

"But,  no!  No,  I  says.  No!  It  is  the  devil's  day  and 
Satan  is  his  boosom  friend.  Out  of  the  mouths  of  babes 
and  sucklings  he  took  it,  though  expressly  told  he  ain't  to 
do  no  sich  thing  by  that  which  is  higher 'n  him.  And  they 
goes  all  the  way  to  Greenwach  Street  and  buys  and  I'm  a 


18  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

ruined  man.  And  now  he  offers  me  a  measly  five  thousand 
fer  my  good-vnll.  Good-will  ?  He  kin  starve  and  he  kin 
break  me,  but  my  good-will  I'll  sell  to  no  robber 
of  the " 

"It's  shameful;  it's  terrible,"  cried  Axtell,  turning  to 
Quackenbos,  as  though  the  revelation  had  been  made  to 
him  for  the  first  time.  "Is  there  no  way  to  punish  such 
a  man?  Shall  he  go  on  his  criminal  way  unpunished? 
If  the  law  will  not  touch  the  robber,  the  individual  should ! 
If  I  wasn't  a  cripple,  I'd  find  a  way  to  punish  him." 

The  grocer's  eyes  gleamed  as  he  reached  across  the 
counter  and  took  The  Wolf  by  the  sleeve. 

"I  ain't  no  cripple,  but  I  ain't  educated  like  you,  Mr. 
Axtell,  and  I  don't  know  no  ways.  You  tell  me  and,  short 
of  murder,  I'll  do  it.  Thieving  I  take  no  count  on,  for 
the  biggest  robber  of  all  is  him.  How  kin  he  be  punished; 
how  kin  he?" 

"Through  those  he  loves,"  said  Axtell  sombrely. 

"Love?  Him  hve  ?  Mr.  Axtell,  you  dunno  that  man.  He 
don't  love  nothing  but  piling  it  up  all  the  time,  piling " 

"It  up,  yes;  and  who  for?"  asked  Axtell.  "His  son 
Stephen  Janissary,  3d!  Christened  by  the  cardinal;  a 
thousand  invitations;  a  breakfast  for  two  hundred  and 
fifty.  His  father  becomes  a  Catholic  so  that  the  christening 
will  be  famous,  and  Catholics  will  remember  and  deal  with 
his  stores.  He  is  piling  it  up;  yes,  for  his  son.  Suppose 
somebody  stole  that  son?  His  wife's  dead  now;  he's  getting 
older.  It's  past  two  years  old  —  not  like  an  infant;  easy 
to  handle;  don't  yell  and  cry.  Suppose  somebody  stole 
it?    That    would    be    revenge,    eh,    Quackenbos?    Pretty 


THE  HOUSE  OF  "THE  WOLF"  19 

that  —  ha!  ha!  —  pretty!  But  it'll  never  happen!  No,  no, 
it'll  never  happen." 

"Why  —  why  shouldn't  it  happen,  Mr.  Axtell.'"  asked 
Van  Tromp,  who  had  held  his  breath  while  The  Wolf 
talked. 

Axtell  looked  at  him  long  and  steadily  and  then  sneered: 

"Why?  Because  there  wouldn't  be  any  Big  Steve  at 
all  if  you  people  had  any  nerve.  You  let  these  fellows  rob 
and  sweat  you  and  then  you  go  out  and  vote  for  the  men 
who'll  help  them  to  do  it.  You  might  be  free  men,  you 
like  to  be  slaves  —  like  it,  I  tell  you.  You  sit  and  mope 
and  cry  like  children  instead  of  going  about  things  a  man's 
way.  Anybody  with  a  little  nerve  could  steal  that  child 
and  get  away  with  it.  But  nobody  will.  Bah!  I've  got 
no  patience  with  you.  Sheep!  That's  what  you  are  — 
sheep!    Cowards,  too.     Come,  Quackenbos!" 

The  grocer  had  resented  neither  his  words  nor  his  tone. 
They  left  him,  both  elbows  on  the  counter,  fingers  pulling 
aimlessly  at  the  mole  on  his  cheek.  Axtell  threw  a  glance 
back  as  he  passed  the  shop  front  and  saw  that  the  man  had 
not  moved. 

"In  building  a  fire,  my  dear  Quackenbos,"  said  Axtell 
instructively  as  they  continued  up  Sixth  Avenue,  "it  is 
first  necessary  that  you  be  endowed  with  great  patience. 
Fan  the  flame,  my  boy,  fan  it;  but  fan  it  gently,  and  then  — 
when  the  crucial  moment  comes  —  drop  on  the  big  chunk 
of  wood  and  the  flames  will  eagerly  devour  it." 

"Yes,  of  course,  dear  old  chap,  I  quite  understand  that," 
returned  Quackenbos.  "But  what  puzzles  me,  you  see, 
is    why   the   deuce   you   should   want    this    bally    infant 


20  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

captured  by  the  smelly  grocer.  Kidnapping's  dangerous 
business,  you  know,  and  we've  been  warned  dozens  of  times 
not  to  mix  up  with  any  influential  people.  Now  this  fellow* 
this  Janissary,  seems  by  way  of  being  influential,  don't 
you  think?  Jupiter  Olympus!  I'm  not  terribly  keen  on 
taking  a  fall  out  of  him." 

They  had  reached  Washington  Square  and  both  sat  upon 
a  bench:  a  different  Washington  Square  from  the  one  you 
know  now  —  one  supremely  indicative  of  wealth,  fashion, 
and  breeding.  Long  lines  of  carriages  seemed  to  make  the 
four  sides  of  the  square  —  east  and  west,  north  and  south, 
one  saw  them  like  an  Egyptian  dado  encircling  the  lower 
portion  of  a  great,  roofless  temple.  Lights  had  begun  to 
shoot  little  fitful  rays  from  fanlights,  and  the  curtains 
of  drawing-room  windows  were  being  drawn.  Liveried 
coachmen  and  footmen  strolled  up  and  down  before  their 
vehicles,  some  smoking  pij>es  on  the  lee  side,  secure  in  the 
fact  that  the  body  of  the  vehicle  hid  them  from  the  sight 
of  mistresses  within.  Every  little  while,  a  door  was  thrown 
open  by  a  servitor  and  a  whiff  of  perfume,  subtle  and  deli- 
cate, was  followed  by  some  woman  of  fashion  in  ringlets 
and  ribbons  with  a  long  trailing  boa  thrown  over  her  shoulder 
and  a  little  pomponned  hat  that  we  would  consider  quite 
ridiculous  if  we  saw  it  nowadays.  And,  sometimes,  a  man 
came  out  —  mostly  youngsters  these,  in  frock  coats  cut 
very  high  and  standing  collars  cut  very  low  —  the  mode  of 
the  moment  —  with  long  narrow,  patent-leather  shoes 
that  street  gamins  called  "toothpicks." 

"Damn  you,  I  hate  you  all!"  exclaimed  Wulf  Axtell 
suddenly.     "I  hate  you  all,  all!    If  I'd  been  born  with  a 


THE  HOUSE  OF  "THE  WOLF'*  21 

grubby  ability  to  figure  and  figure,  and  cheat  and  lie  over 
pennies,  and  work  for  three  dollars  a  week  and  save  half 
of  it,  I  might  be  living  there  too." 

"The  grub  and  the  butterfly,  dear  old  chap,"  Quackenbos 
reminded  him.  "Butterflies  are  golden  and  gauzy,  but 
they  come  from  the  grub,  don't  forget  that.  We  can't 
be  born  butterflies.  Either  we  must  be  grubs  ourselves 
or  have  a  grub  for  an  ancestor." 

"I  hate  them  all  —  every  one,"  continued  Axtell  moodily, 
paying  no  heed  to  what  Quackenbos  had  said.  "Oh,  if 
I  had  been  left  alone,  let  be  like  other  men.  If  this  damned 
persecution  hadn't  been  put  on  me,  I'd  show  them!  I'd 
show   them!" 

Suddenly,  he  took  Quackenbos's  arm. 

"That's  why  I  want  this  kid  —  this  kid  of  Janissary's. 
I'll  bring  him  up  an  enemy  to  society  —  to  all  of  them. 
I'll  teach  him  to  hate  them  as  I  do.  The  son  of  one  of  the 
biggest  of  them.  I'll  train  him  to  fight  against  them  as  his 
father  would  have  taught  him  to  fight  for  them.  And 
then,  when  the  father  dies,  we'll  have  the  fortune  —  the 
eldest  son,  you  know." 

"Then  you  think,  you  really  think,  dear  old  chap,  that 
the  smelly  grocer  is  going  to  steal  him?" 

"Think?" 

Axtell's  face  was  lit  up  with  evil  cimning. 

"That  kind  of  people  are  animals,  with  an  animal's 
fixity  of  purpose.  One  thought  at  a  time.  He's  been 
thinking  of  nothing  else  but  Janissary.  He'd  never  have 
thought  to  steal  the  kid.  I  put  the  idea  in  his  head.  Now 
he  thinks  of  nothing  else.     Hilary!" 


22  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

He  gripped  the  Englishman's  arm. 

"An  idea!    A  good  one!" 

With  considerable  trouble,  he  extracted  a  key  from  his 
pocket. 

"Go  open  the  third  drawer  in  the  highboy  in  my  room. 
You'll  find  a  lot  of  police  shields,  customs  and  gas  inspectors* 
badges.  Take  one  of  the  last.  Go  down  to  Harry  Karlin- 
sky  and  get  him  to  put  it  among  the  pawned  goods  on 
which  the  time  has  run  out.  I'll  hobble  along  back  to 
Van  Tromp's  shop  alone.     You  go  the  other  way." 

Among  the  circle  in  which  Messrs.  Axtell  and  Quackenbos 
moved,  Mr.  Karlinsky  was  designated  a  "fence,"  a  term 
which  even  the  uninitiated  of  to-day  have  learned  to  know 
is  a  "wise-crack"  equivalent  to  "receiver  of  stolen  goods." 
Needless  to  say,  Mr.  Karlinsky  was  at  the  orders  of  one 
who  controlled  the  affairs  of  so  many  profitable  customers 
as  Wulf  Axtell. 

Alone  Axtell  waited  for  awhile,  wetting  his  dry  lips,  and 
muttering  imprecations  on  the  heads  of  those  whom  he 
saw  enter  the  carriages  and  drive  away.  Presently  he 
arose,  and,  with  infinite  pains  and  a  curse  for  all  who  ob- 
structed his  way,  made  the  two  blocks  between  the  Square 
and  Van  Tromp's  shop. 

As  he  imagined.  Van  Tromp  was  waiting  for  him  to  re- 
turn, and  almost  dragged  him  into  the  little  shop. 

"Suppose,  jest  suppose  now,  mind  you,  Mr.  Axtell, 
suppose  as  you  —  as  you " 

He  did  not  have  the  courage  to  come  out  with  it. 

" —  try  some  of  this  here  citron  as  jest  come  in  —  reg'Iar 
spice-cured  citron  that,  Mr.  Axtell,  and  harder  to  git  than 


THE  HOUSE  OF  "THE  WOLF"  23 

a  gentleman  like  you  is  likely  to  know,  not  bein'  put  to 
much  trouble  fer  gittin'  anything  he  wants.  No  matter 
how  rich  you  was  you  couldn't  git  no  better  citron  than 
that)  even  if  you  was  to  be  a  millionaire  like  —  like " 

He  considered  he  had  exercised  great  diplomacy  in  bringing 
the  conversation  around  to  the  subject  nearest  to  his  heart. 

"He  kin  go  on  pilin'  and  pilin',  but  he  can't  git  no 
better  citron  than  that  at  no  price.  And  if  he  was  to  sell 
it  under  what  I'm  goin'  to  sell  it  to  you  at,  he'd  lose 
more'n  he  loses  on  his  butter  and  sugar.  Funny, 
you  talking  about  kidnapping  that  younker  of  his;  can't 
be  done,  Mr.  Axtell.  Why  in  a  house  that  big,  with 
so  many  nigger  and  white  servants  a-standin'  around,  I 
wonder  the  fambly  gets  a  chance  to  set  down,  a'  tall.  Min- 
ute one  of  them  set  eyes  on  you  sneakin'  through  the  house, 
why  there'd  be  too  much,  Mr.  Axtell,  too  much  fer  an  old 
man  to  do  —  or  a  young  one  fer  that  matter.  I  naturally 
looks  at  it  as  a  man  of  my  age  would,  not  meanin'  anything 
by  it  as  you  know." 

He  watched  Axtell  slyly,  but  The  Wolf  was  biting  bits 
of  the  citron,  tasting  it  approvingly. 

"Yes,  very  good  this.  Van  Tromp.  I'll  take  a  pound  — 
yes,  a  pound.  Oh,  as  far  as  kidnapping;  well,  I  recall 
a  similar  case.  But  of  course  this  fellow  hated  his 
enemy  so  much  that  he  was  willing  to  take  the  time  and 
trouble  to  scheme  the  thing  out.  A  very  similar  case  to 
this  one,  by  the  way." 

He  chewed  a  bit  more  at  the  citron.  Van  Tromp  watched 
him,  dumbly  fascinated,  making  no  move  to  carry  out  the 
order  Axtell  had  just  given. 


24  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"This  fellow,"  said  Axtell  slowly,  "was  ruined  in  bus- 
iness by  a  very  rich  man  who  had  a  son.  He  made  up  his 
mind  to  kidnap  that  son.  So  he  went  to  a  pawn  shop  and 
he  bought  a  badge  —  the  kind  that  gas  inspectors  wear 
when  they  go  to  inspect  gas  metres.  Then  he  fastens  this 
badge  to  his  cap  and  goes  to  the  rich  man's  house.  The 
servant  shows  him  the  metre;  he  says  the  gas  leaks,  and 
he  turns  the  metre  so  only  half  the  flow  of  gas  comes  out 
and  says  he  must  go  through  the  house  lighting  the  jets  to 
see  where  the  leak  is.  That  gives  him  an  excuse  to  get 
into  the  kid's  room.    See?'* 

Only  the  old  simile  of  the  bird  and  the  serpent  could 
express  the  expressions  in  the  eyes  of  the  two  men.  The 
grocer  stood  spellbound,  hardly  daring  to  breathe  for 
fear  he  would  miss  one  of  the  precious  words. 

"This  man,"  continued  Axtell,  his  eyes  beady  now  in  their 
intensity  as  they  held  Van  Tromp's,  "was  a  wise  man. 
He  chose  an  hour  when  the  child's  nurse  was  eating  her 
supper.  Children  like  that  are  always  put  to  bed  at  six 
and  their  nurses  have  their  supper  as  soon  as  the  children 
go  to  sleep  —  about  half  past  six." 

He  paused,  and,  although  Van  Tromp  did  not  speak, 
Axtell  could  see  his  lips  forming  the  words  that  stood  for 
the  two  hours. 

"The  servant  who  was  with  this  man"  he  went  on,  more 
impressively,  "said  he  couldn't  go  into  the  nursery  because 
Master  —  Master    Charles " 

"Charles?" 

The  interruption  was  instinctive. 

"This  child   was    named    Charles  —  yes  —  Charles,  jr. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  "THE  WOLF"  25 

As  I  was  saying  —  because  Master  Charles  was  asleep. 
So  this  man  just  clapped  a  chloroform  sponge  to  that 
servant's  nose  and  then  went  into  the  nursery  and 
put  a  little  —  just  a  tiny  little  —  bit  more  chloroform  to 
the  child's  nose.  He  was  carrying  a  big  carpet-bag  from 
which  he  had  taken  a  couple  of  tools  so  the  servants  in  the 
kitchen  could  see  them.  So  now  he  slips  those  few  tools 
in  his  pocket " 

"But  a  baby  —  a  two-year  old  baby  —  would  it  go  into 
a  carpet-bag  —  would  itf" 

"This  one  was  a  big  carpet-bag  —  but  even  at  that  the 
baby  had  to  be  squeezed  a  little.  Didn't  hurt  it  much. 
Just  for  a  few  minutes.  You  see  this  man  lived  only  a 
few  blocks  from  where  the  millionaire  did.  But,  as  I  was 
saying,  he  picks  up  the  servant  and  carries  her  into 
the  nursery  and  puts  her  in  the  baby's  bed  and  puts  the 
baby  in  the  carpet-bag  and  walks  right  down  stairs  again. 
Even  stops  in  the  kitchen  and  chats  for  a  minute  with  the 
cook.  They  don't  think  anything  of  the  girl  not  coming 
down  stairs  when  he  tells  'em  he  found  the  leak  and  she's 
cleaning  up  the  litter  he  made  repairing  it." 

"But  didn't  they  —  didn't  they  recognize  the  man  who 
stole  the  child  and  have  him  advertised  in  the  papers 
and " 

"He  wasn't  fool  enough  to  go  as  he  was,"  said  Axtell, 
reprovingly.  "He  had  better  sense  than  that.  At  the 
pawnbroker's  where  he  bought  the  badge  he  also  got  a  false 
beard  and  moustache.  Pawnbrokers  always  have  such 
things.  Why,  you  know  Harry  ICarlinsky's  down  the  street 
a  little  way ?" 


26  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"Karlinsky's  —  yes  —  I  —  I  know:  can  you  buy  such 
things  there?    Badges  and  sich?*' 

"I  saw  a  badge  —  a  gas  inspector's  badge  in  there  only 
this  morning.     So  you  see  how  easy  it  is " 

Suddenly  be  broke  off  with  a  laugh: 

'But  how  foolish  to  waste  your  time  and  mine  telling  you 
a  thing  like  that.  You  —  a  respectable  grocer !  Why 
even  if  you  had  an  enemy  you  wouldn't  dare  do  it." 

"No,  no;  of  course  noty"  returned  Van  Tromp  slyly,  look- 
ing away  from  Axtell. 

"Although,"  continued  The  Wolf  thoughtfully,  "that 
was  the  way  with  that  other  fellow.  He  was  so  respectable 
that  nobody  suspected  him  and  the  father  never  got  the 
boy  back.    He  died  from  grief." 

**  The  father?"  asked  Van  Tromp  viciously. 

Axtell  nodded. 

"You  see  he'd  been  grinding  down  the  poor  and  piling 
up  the  money  just  for  this  boy.  Oh,  it  was  a  great  revenge. 
Well,  good  night.  Van  Tromp.  Haven't  you  done  up  my 
citron  yet?" 

"Yes,  sir;  in  a  minute,  Mr.  Axtell!" 

No  further  words  passed  between  them;  not  even  good 
night.  The  package  was  done  up,  handed,  and  paid  for 
silently;  and,  as  Wulf  Axtell  turned  the  corner  and  passed 
out  of  the  grocer's  sight,  a  spasm  of  evil  laughter  overtook 
him  so  violently  that  it  turned  to  coughing  and  racked  his 
anaemic  body. 

"He'll  do  it,"  he  said  to  Quackenbos  as  that  worthy 
who  had  been  waiting  for  him  by  the  stoop  of  the  Dominie's 
House,  now  hurried  forward  in  some  alarm  as  he  witnessed 


"Quackenbos  followed   the  palsied  finger  that  shook  as 
it  pointed'' 


THE  HOUSE  OF  "THE  WOLF"  27 

The  Wolf's  spasm.  "He'll  do  it  to-night.  I've  made  my 
living  judging  men,  and  I  tell  you  he'll  do  it  —  sure!" 

"Well,  what  then?" 

"Why,"  said  Axtell,  smiling  in  his  ugly  way,  "why  we'll 
let  him  keep  the  kid  until  everybody's  forgotten  all  about 
him.  Let  him  have  the  worry  and  the  care.  Let  him  take 
all  the  risks.  He  can't  blame  anything  on  me.  I  advised 
nothing.  The  old  hypothetical  case.  Parallel  circum- 
stances! A  good  job,  Hilary.  Oh,  I  must  give  it  to 
myself.     I'm  clever,  devilish  clever." 

"Yes,  devilish  clever,"  agreed  Quackenbos  soberly. 

"Oh,  oh!  You're  a  prude,  Hilary;  a  man  of  no  stamina. 
You  don't  know  how  to  hate  and  plan  like  I  do.  I'll  fix 
*em  —  fix  'em  all.  If  this  boy  has  any  of  his  father's  brain 
I'll  make  a  thief  like  the  world  never  saw  before  —  the 
master-thief,  Hilary,  old  boy.  Oh,  believe  me,  Hilary, 
I'm  rather  proud  of  this  little  job.  No  risk;  nothing. 
Let  old  Van  Tromp  have  him  for  a  couple  of  years; 
then  I'll  go  and  take  him  away  and  begin  to  train 
him.  Even  as  a  kid,  I'll  train  him.  Oh,  Hilary,  this  is 
too  much,  too  much,  my  boy." 

And  he  went  into  another  spasm  of  evil  mirth  that 
changed  to  a  racking  cough.  Quackenbos  drew  his  weak- 
ened frame  up  the  brown  stone  steps. 

"Come  in.  The  air's  chilly.  You  can't  stand  it,  you 
know." 

"Look!"  said  Axtell  suddenly. 

He  pushed  his  partner  back  into  the  door-way.  Together 
they  crouched  in  the  shadows  and  out  of  sight.  Quacken- 
bos followed  the  palsied  finger  that  shook  as  it  pointed, 


28  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

and  saw,  slinking  down  the  dimly  lighted  street,  the  figure 
of  the  grocer,  his  hat  pulled  over  his  eyes,  his  step  uncertain. 
Occasionally  he  turned,  and,  like  a  frightened  rodent, 
peered  backward.  At  the  sight  of  a  uniformed  policeman, 
on  whose  buttons  the  light  from  a  gas  lamp  glinted,  he 
shied  violently  and  walked  a  little  more  rapidly. 
His  face  was  turned  toward  Kiirlinsky's  pawn  shop. 


CHAPTER  III 
EARLY  RECOLLECTIONS 

(From  the  Diary  qf  Stephen  Adatrui) 

I 
THE  TRAINING  OF  THE  YOUTH 

IF  UNCLE  HILARY  finds  I  have  taken  this  book  for 
my  own  uses,  the  devil  will  be  to  pay.  It  was  among 
some  old  things  in  the  attic,  though,  so  I  suppose  he  has 
forgotten  all  about  it.  It  is  quite  a  gorgeous  book  with 
the  word  "Album"  in  big  gilt  Roman  letters  on  the  back  — 
which  I  have  glued  over  the  brown  paper  —  and  an  illu- 
mined title  page  with  a  picture  of  Venice  and  another 
picture  of  Rome  and  another  of  some  city  I  don't  know, 
and,  in  the  centre,  in  beautifully  blazoned  letters,  "Pres- 
sented  to"  and  "By."  The  blanks  are  filled  in  faded 
violet  ink,  "Master  Hilary  St.  Geger  Quackenbos,"  and, 
"His  affectionate  aunt,  Helen  St.  Geger." 

That's  the  one  Uncle  Hilary  said  used  to  chase  him  up 
stairs  to  learn  his  catechism  every  Simday  morning.  She 
was  the  wife  of  Lord  Nothend,  although  his  real  name  was 
Peter  St.  Geger.    I  consider  it  a  rather  silly  thing,  that 

29 


30  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

business  of  having  two  different  names  —  two  different 
titles  too,  by  the  way,  for,  although  he  was  called  "Lord 
Nothend"  by  people,  he  was  really  "Baron  Nothend." 

It  is  very  confusing.  Uncle  Hilary  says  he  was  a  fat  old 
man  who  dropped  all  his  "g's"  and  couldn't  spell  to  save 
his  life.  Fancy  such  a  man  having  a  title  and  "Lording" 
it  over  people.  I  asked  Hilary  (I  call  him  Hilary  although 
he  is  my  uncle)  why,  and  Hilary  laughed  and  said  it  was 
just  another  of  life's  little  ironies  that  I  would  have  to  get 
used  to. 

It  looks  as  though  I  would  have  a  hard  time  understanding 
things,  and  Hilary  doesn't  help  me  any.  I  can't  figure  it 
out  whether  grown-up  people  are  terribly  stupid  or  whether 
I  am.  It's  conceited  even  to  have  a  doubt  about  it,  I 
suppose,  but  I've  got  it  and  I  suppose  I  will  never  get  rid 
of  it. 

I'm  getting  old  enough  to  have  something  else  beside 
"kid"  books,  by  the  way.  I  shall  ask  Hilary  for  some, 
because  I  want  to  get  a  notion  of  why  things  are  so  badly 
arranged  when,  it  seems  to  me,  it  is  the  simplest  thing  in 
the  world  to  set  them  right. 

Of  course,  "Robin  Hood"  is  all  very  well.  I  like  Robin 
and  his  merry  men,  and  I  think  he  did  perfectly  right  to 
take  from  the  rich  to  give  to  the  poor.  But  Hilary  says 
that  if  Robin  tried  those  things  "on"  to-day  (that's  his 
funny  way  of  expressing  himself),  he'd  be  sentenced  to 
serve  years  and  years  in  prison. 

This,  again,  is  terribly  confusing,  as  you  can  see;  because 
he  did  a  great  deal  of  good  and  should  have  been  rewarded 
for  it.    He  was  rewarded  in  my  book,  made  earl  of  Sher- 


EAKLY  RECOLLECTIONS  31 

wood,  I  think.     (I  will  look  it  up.)     I  have  a  very  fine 

edition  of  "Robin"  now,  with  perfectly  fascinating  pictures 

by  Pyle  whom  I  consider  a  great  artist.     (He  also  wrote 

the  book.)      I  have  had  a  great  many  "Robin  Hood" 

books  —  all  different  —  but  I  like  this  one  best. 

Then  there  was  Frangois  Villon.    He  was  a  great  poet 

and  writer  and  a  scholar  of  the  University  of  Paris,  and  in 

his  time  that  was  a  great  thing;  for  most  of  the  people  were 

so  uneducated  they  didn't  even  know  how  to  write  their 

own  names.    And  Francois  was  a  very  brave  man,  too, 

for  when  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  was  besieging  Paris,  he 

organized  a  band  of  men  and  helped  defend  his  beloved 

city.     Yet  he  was  hanged  by  the  neck  until  he  was  dead 

just  because  he  stole  from  the  rich.    Just  imagine  that! 

And  he  was  so  great  a  writer  that  people  read  his  poems 

to  this  very  day.    Beautiful  poems,  too!    One  of  them 

Hilary  recited  to  me: 

"  Where  are  the  snows  of  yesterday? 
The  winds  have  blown  them  all  away "  ' 

I  forget  the  rest  of  it.    But  it  was  very  pretty. 

And  then  there  was  Claude  Duval  and  "  Galloping  Dick" 
Turpin.  They  were  fine  fellows.  It  must  have  been  great 
to  get  on  your  horse  on  a  dark  windy  night,  and  ride  over 
the  moors  and  stick  your  pistols  at  the  rich  people's  heads 
and  say: 

"Stand  and  deliver!" 

I  think  I  should  like  that.  But  I  shouldn't  like  to  be 
hanged  in  chains  on  Tyburn  as  Dick  was.  Almost  all 
these  fine  fellows  in  my  books  got  hanged  or  something. 
It  is  not  very  encouraging. 


32  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

Hilary  says  that  "the  world"  doesn't  consider  it  right. 
He  says  that  "the  world"  thinks  that  you  ought  to  lie 
and  cheat  and  deceive  and  get  as  much  of  other  people's 
money  as  you  can  without  actually  threatening  them  with 
a  weapon.  Then,  when  you  get  very  rich  and  anybody 
tries  to  take  any  of  your  wealth  away  from  you,  all  you  have 
got  to  do  is  to  go  "to  law,"  and  you  will  get  it  back  and 
the  one  who  takes  it  will  be  sent  to  prison. 

It's  too  much  for  me:  I  can't  understand  it.  I  should 
think  that  the  man  who  risked  his  life  to  take  things  away 
from  other  people  would  be  more  respected  than  the  one 
who  sneaks  them  away  when  you're  not  looking. 

Mr.  Axtell  says  he  will  explain  it  all  to  me  some  day  — 
not  now.  Mr.  Axtell  is  a  funny  fellow  —  I  don't  mean 
humourous,  but  queer.  I  don't  know  whether  I  like  him 
or  not,  but  he  teaches  me  so  many  clever  tricks  that  I'm 
always  glad  when  he  pays  some  attention  to  me.  I  suppose 
it's  his  lameness  that  makes  him  cross,  but  sometimes  he 
makes  me  think  of  a  butcher  in  a  white  apron  with  big 
stains  on  it:  and  I  don't  like  butchers  or  blood  or  anything 
like  that.  It's  a  silly  thing  for  an  old  lame  man  to  make 
you  think  about. 

But  he  is  very  clever,  especially  with  cards.  He  has 
taught  me  how  I  can  beat  Hilary  any  time  I  want.  You 
see,  he  has  got  a  pack  of  cards  that  are  made  especially  for 
him;  and  on  the  backs  of  them  there  is  a  rose,  and  you  can 
tell  by  looking  at  the  number  of  petals  on  the  rose  just 
what  cards  you  are  dealing  to  the  one  you're  playing  with 
and  so  you  always  know  what  he's  got.  And  he  has  taught 
me  how  to  take  a  pack  of  cards  and  shuffle  them  in  such  a 


EARLY  RECOLLECTIONS  33 

way  that  if  I  want  to  deal  Hilary  four  jacks  and  myself 
four  aces,  I  can  do  it  without  the  slightest  bit  of  trouble. 
I  learned  that  when  I  was  eight;  and  it*s  as  easy  as 
winking  now. 

Last  night  I  was  playing  poker  with  Hilary  and  I  won 
about  two  thousand  dollars  (in  chips,  of  course),  and  Mr. 
Axtell  said  to  Hilary: 

"Did  you  see  him  do  it?" 

Hilary  shook  his  head  and  both  of  them  burst  out  laugh- 
ing, and  then  Mr.  Axtell  patted  me  on  the  head.  I'd  a 
deal  rather  he  wouldn't  do  that,  because  it  makes  the  elec- 
tricity come  out  when  he  does  it,  and  I  feel  like  making  a 
noise  like  our  cat  does  when  you  stroke  her  fur  the 
wrong  way. 

I  think  I  shall  tell  Hilary  how  I  beat  him  so  easily:  it 
doesn't  seem  fair  to  make  him  look  cheap  all  the  time. 

Sometimes  I  imagine  Mr.  Axtell  wants  me  to  be  an  actor, 
for  he  is  forever  showing  me  how  I  can  change  the  appear- 
ance of  my  face  altogether  with  a  little  bit  of  rouge-stick 
and  black-lead  stick,  and  a  few  little  tufts  of  hair  here  and 
there.  He  says  anybody  can  make  up  to  deceive  on  the 
stage,  but  the  true  artist  is  one  who  can  make  up  so  that 
a  person  who  knows  you  can  look  you  right  in  the  face  and 
not  be  able  to  tell  who  you  are. 

Of  course,  the  eyes  have  a  great  deal  to  do  with  it,  though. 
There's  some  stuff  called  belladonna  that  makes  your  eyes 
look  quite  different  from  what  they  really  are. 

Then  there's  the  voice:  Every  time  I  meet  a  new  person, 
Mr.  Axtell  makes  me  give  an  imitation  of  the  way  he  speaks 
and  keep  on  practising  until  I  can  get  the  exact  tone  he 


34  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

uses.  Yes,  I*m  sure  he  must  want  me  to  be  an  actor,  but 
if  he  does  he's  mightily  mistaken.  I  don't  just  know  what 
I  do  want  to  be,  but  I  know  I  dorCt  want  to  be  an  actor, 
and  nobody  shall  make  me  either. 

Mr.  Axtell  is  a  great  bother  to  me.  He  has  one  very 
annoying  habit:  he  is  always  losing  his  keys  and  calling  for 
me  to  come  and  open  a  locked  drawer  or  cupboard  or  some- 
thing. At  first  I  had  no  notion  of  how  I  was  going  to  do 
it,  but  he  has  some  little  thin  steel  things  with  which,  if 
you  once  get  the  hang  of  them,  you  can  open  anything. 
He  locked  himself  out  last  night  when  we  went  to  the  thea- 
tre together  and  there  was  nobody  to  let  us  in,  so  he  showed 
me  (or  rather  he  told  me)  how  to  open  the  front  parlour 
window:  he  called  it  "springing"  the  window  and  that 
is  a  good  name,  because,  you  know,  you  do  spring  it. 

And  though  he's  so  careless  himself,  he's  dead  against 
carelessness  in  others.  For  instance,  he  told  Hilary  one 
day  to  wear  his  watch  chain  through  a  button-hole  instead 
of  loose  from  pocket  to  pocket,  because,  he  said,  it  would 
be  so  easy  for  any  one  to  hft  it  out.  Hilary  laughed  and 
"pooh-poohed"  him,  and  it  must  have  made  Mr.  Axtell 
mad,  for,  when  Hilary  went  out,  he  said: 

"I'm  going  to  teach  him  a  lesson.'* 

And  to  teach  him,  Mr.  Axtell  taught  me  how  to  lift  the 
whole  thing  away  so  Hilary  wouldn't  know  it.  That 
seemed  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  after  the  difficult 
things  I've  learned  to  do  with  my  fingers,  so,  when  Hilary 
came  back,  I  took  the  chain  (with  a  watch  on  one  end  and 
a  knife  on  the  other  )  out  of  his  pocket  and  he  knew  nothing 
about  it  until  I  handed  them  back. 


EARLY  RECOLLECTIONS  35 

Here  I  am  running  along  not  like  a  diary  at  all:  at  least, 
not  like  any  diaries  I  ever  read;  but  then  I  don't  seem  to  be 
able  to  do  anything  just  like  anybody  else.  One  thing  is 
certain,  though;  I  ought  to  put  down  the  date;  it  is  May 
7th  or  8th  —  I  haven't  got  a  calendar  handy  —  1901,  and 
I  was  thirteen  last  February. 

I've  written  ten  pages  and  ray  wrist  is  tired,  so  I  shall 
close  and  write  again  sometime  next  week. 


n 


MTTLiB   THIEVES  AND   BIG   ONES 

July  17,  1901  —  (I  started  right  this  time.)  Well,  I 
forgot  all  my  good  resolutions  about  writing  in  this  diary 
every  day.  Besides,  if  I  did,  I  shouldn't  have  much  to  put 
down.  Nothing  much  ever  happens  to  me:  I  suppose  it 
is  only  in  books  that  things  really  happen. 

I'm  trying  to  think  (now  I  have  started  on  the  subject 
of  happenings)  whether  anything  ever  happened  to  me, 
and  I  don't  think  so.  Of  course,  losing  your  father  and 
mother  is  a  happening  in  a  way,  but  that  was  before  I  caq 
remember  and  what's  the  good  of  a  happening  you  can't 
remember?  Anyhow,  father's  death  occurred  far  away  —r 
in  India  —  and  mother  died  when  I  was  born. 

The  first  person  I  can  remember  is  old  Van  Tromp,  and, 
for  a  funny  thing,  every  time  I  see  the  old  drunkard,  I  seem 
to  smell  a  cellar.  That's  funny  enough,  isn't  it?  Uncle 
Hilary  left  me  with  Van  Tromp  when  he  was  off  in  the 
Rocky   Mountains  prospecting,   and   I  don't  think  Van 


36  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

Tromp  was  very  careful  of  me,  because  almost  the 
very  first  thing  I  can  remember  is  a  row  between  Van 
Tromp  and  Hilary  and  Mr.  Axtell.  It's  funny  it 
should  stick  out  in  my  mind  the  way  it  does,  although 
I  suppose  that  is  because  it  was  the  day  I  first  came  to 
live  here. 

What  the  row  was  about  I  couldn't  tell  you.  All  I  know 
was  that  old  Van  Tromp  didn't  want  to  let  me  go  for  some 
reason,  and  they  kept  telling  him  what  they  would  do  to 
him  if  he  didn't  until  finally  he  got  very  scared  and  sat 
down  and  put  his  hands  to  his  stomach  and  didn't  say  any- 
thing, and  Hilary  took  me  out. 

I  must  have  been  about  four  at  that  time. 

Since  then,  all  I've  done  is  to  live  in  this  house  and  study 
with  Hilary  and  read  by  myself  and  take  lessons  from  Mr. 
Axtell,  and  box  with  Eddie  O'Brien. 

A  great  many  funny  people  come  to  our  house,  but  "Rag" 
is  the  funniest.  We  call  him  that  because  he  gets  himself 
all  worked  up  into  a  passion  over  some  little  argument,  and 
then  sits  down  to  the  piano  and  thumps  out  a  lot  of  rag- 
time. He  always  plays  on  the  middle  keys,  and  whether 
he's  doing  "Ave  Maria,"  or  "My  Gal's  a  High  Born  Lady," 
they  both  sound  alike  the  way  he  plays  them. 

He  is  a  very  mild-looking  fellow  with  light  eyelashes 
and  nice  gray  eyes,  but  Mr.  Axtell  says  he  is  one  of  the 
"toughest  little  son-of-a-guns  that  ever  was  in  the  Tender- 
loin." It  appears  that  he  was  a  prize-fighter  once,  and 
also  that  he  has  been  in  prison.  He  wouldn't  tell  me  what 
for;  gets  rather  angry  when  I  ask  him,  and  the  other  day, 
when  I  said  that  I  didn't  see  why  men  should  be  sent  to 


EARLY  RECOLLECTIONS  37 

prison  just  because  they  took  things  from  rich  people,  he 
got  very  red  and  flushed  and  he  said: 

"Now,  kid;  don't  let  'em  slip  you  any  of  that  kind  of 
bunk.  You're  a  nice  kid  and  I'd  like  to  see  you  git  along, 
but  you  ain't  a-goin'  to  make  any  ten  strike  if  you  follow- 
that  dope.  They'se  sich  a  thing  as  laws  and  s'long  as  they 
is,  th'  best  thing  to  do  is  not  to  monkey  with  the  buzz- 
saw.  You're  young  and  you've  got  a  good  nut  on  you  and 
nuthin'  agin  you.  Learn  some  good,  square  graft  and  stick 
to  it.  Th'  other  money's  easier  made,  but  by  th'  time  you 
get  through  slippin'  it  to  coppers  and  politicians,  you  ain't 
got  much  left  for  your  bit.  No,  you  kin  skin  the  suckers 
easiest  by  playin'  their  own  game  and  bein'  what  they 
call  honest  and  you  kin  turn  a  starvin'  family  out  into  the 
street  for  six  dollars  room  rent  and  nobuddy  '11  interduce 
you  to  th'  wrong  side  of  a  jail.  And,  lissen,  kid:  there 
ain't  nuthin'  in  God's  green  world  that's  worth  doing  a 
*bit'  for  —  hours  that  seems  like  days  and  days  that  seems 
like  months  and  all  the  while  you  know  there  is  blue  skies 
and  green  trees  and  pretty  gals  walking  'crost  Herald 
Square.  No,  they  is  rules  to  this  game  and  you  gotta 
learn  'em." 

"Rag"  takes  me  into  some  strange  places,  and  a  lot  of 
the  men  he  introduces  to  me  have  names  like  savages :  For 
instance,  "  Red  Leary,"  and  "  Mike  the  Goat,"  and  "Eat- 
'em  Alive  McGinnis,"  who  fights  with  his  teeth,  and  "The 
Pale  Face  Kid,"  and  so  on.  They  all  seem  tame  enough 
to  me:  I  think  they  must  call  themselves  by  these  queer 
names  because  they  are  a  little  deficient  of  brain.  Most 
of  them  have  very  low  foreheads  and  ears  set  down  near 


38  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

their  chins  and  the  manners  of  sulky  children.  "Rag"  says 
it  will  do  me  a  lot  of  good  to  know  them. 

"They'd  kill  you  jest  to  see  which  way  you  fell,  kid.  And 
anybody  could  hire  one  of  them  to  do  murder  for  a  ten- 
dollar  note.  I  ain't  got  much  use  for  'em,  myself,  but  one 
thing  I  will  say :  they'd  never  harm  a  pal,  not  for  a  million 
bucks,  and  so  it's  handy  to  stand  in  with  *em." 

I  was  very  much  disgusted: 

"But  why  do  people  permit  such  horrible  creatures  to 
live  and  wear  good  clothes  and  jewellery  and  have  money 
to  buy  good  things  to  drink  and  eat?"     I  asked  him. 

"Well,  kid,  it's  this  way;"  he  explained.  "Somebuddy's 
got  to  do  the  dirty  work,  see?  I'll  explain  it  to  you:  Sup- 
posin'  you're  a  rich  guy  that  lives  on  Fifth  Av'noo  and 
you've  got  a  lot  of  dough  and  you  want  a  lot  more,  and 
th'  only  way  you  kin  git  it  is  to  bribe  somebuddy  to  give  you 
something  that  will  make 'em  a  lot  more  millions,  like  say,  a 
subway  franchise  or  a  gas  franchise  or  a  telephone  fran- 
chise —  something  that  everybody  has  gotta  use  and  pay 
for.  Well,  those  franchises  have  got  to  be  granted  by  the 
mayor  and  the  board  of  aldermen,  see?" 

"  Well,  some  one  has  got  to  supply  gas  and  telephones  and 
subways,  haven't  they?"  I  asked.  "It's  only  fair  that  the 
people  who  put  up  the  money  and  take  all  the  risk  should 
get  the  profits." 

"Profits?  sure!  Reasonable  profits.  But  they  ain't  got 
any  right  to  make  fifty  and  seventy-five  per  cent,  interest 
on  their  investments.  They  ain't  got  any  right  to  git  any 
franchise  that  soaks  the  citizens  of  New  York  City  five  cents 
for  every  telephone  call  and  every  street  car  ride  they  take 


EARLY  RECOLLECTIONS  89 

for  a  hundred  years,  have  they?  And  as  for  the  risk,  these 
guys  ain't  takin'  any  risk  with  their  money  on  city  fran- 
chises. Six  per  cent,  is  a  reasonable  profit  on  a  sure  thing. 
They're  entitled  to  that  and  no  more  —  not  to  all  they  can 
squeeze  out  of  the  public.  Now,  mind,  it  ain't  as  though 
they  were  employing  a  lot  of  people  and  payin'  'em  high 
wages.  They've  got  a  monopoly  and  they  pay  the  people 
that  work  for  'em  any  price  they  choose,  because  if  the 
people  don't  want  to  take  it  they  kin  git  plenty  more  shipped 
from  the  pauper  countries  of  Europe  that  will.     Get  me?" 

"You  mean  to  say,"  I  asked,  mentally  calculating,  "that 
they  get  from  eight  to  ten  times  as  much  profit  as  they 
reasonably  should  and  pay  their  employes  as  little  as  they 
choose?" 

"That's  jest  what  I  mean  to  say.     Get  me  now?" 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  I  said  indignantly,  "I  don't  believe 
people  will  stand  being  robbed  that  way.  Every  man's 
got  a  vote,  hasn't  he?  He  can  elect  people  to  oflBces  who 
will  vote  against  such  things  like  that  and  keep  him  from 
being  robbed." 

"Ah,  now  you're  comin'  to  it,  kid!"  exclaimed  "Rag" 
triumphantly,  "  and  that's  where  the  'gangs'  come  in  so  far 
as  New  York  City  is  concerned.  A  man's  vote  ain't  worth 
a  durn  here  if  the  rich  men  put  up  the  money  for  the  poli- 
ticians to  elect  some  guy  they  want  in.  Now  see  here  : 
Suppose  I'm  planning  to  run  an  elevated  road  on  Eighth 
Avenue  and  I  want  a  franchise  from  the  city  to  build  it 
and  operate  it  for  the  next  ninety-nine  years.  I  go  to  the 
bosses  of  both  parties  and  I  tell  'em  what  I  want  and  I 
hand  over  the  money  they  say  I've  gotta  give.    Then  they 


40  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

git  together  and  select  the  men  who'll  give  that  franchise 
and  when  next  election  time  comes  the  Republicans  put 
up  a  weak  man  in  th'  districts  where  th'  Democrats  are  to 
win,  and  th'  Democrats  do  likewise  in  th'  districts  where 
it's  agreed  th'  Republican's  to  win.     See?    That's  easy. 

"But,  in  some  districts,  th'  bosses  ain't  got  no  pull  and 
th'  people  put  up  a  square  guy  who'll  vote  agin  th'  fran- 
chise as  sure  as  I'm  settin'  in  this  chair  and  who  can't  be 
'fixed'.  Well,  then,  th'  boss  calls  in  the  guys  he  kin  trust 
in  that  district  and  says :  *  Say,  I'm  goin'  vote  th'  names 
of  John  Jones,  Pete  Smith,  Dick  Robinson,  Bill  Hicks 
and  Sim  Clark  from  your  flat,  so  when  th'  election  verifier 
comes  around,  you  tell  him  them  guys  live  in  your  house. 
Get  me?  Well,  say  he  votes  six  men  that  ain't  got  any 
existence  out  of  the  houses  of  three  hundred  men  he  kin 
trust  —  that's  eighteen  hundred  votes  he's  got  solid  before 
the  pollin'  begins  and  there  ain't  no  sich  people.  Then 
all  these  'gangs'  they  go  around  castin'  their  vote  four  and 
five  times,  votin'  first  in  their  own  names  and  then  in  the 
phony  names  of  these  guys  he's  planted  and  then  in  the 
names  of  dead  men  and  so  forth  and  so  on." 

"But  how  can  they  do  it?  How  are  they  allowed  to  do 
it?"  I  asked  indignantly.  "Aren't  there  people  to  watch 
the  polls  and  see  that  dishonest  voters  are  arrested  or 
something?" 

He  looked  at  me  pityingly. 

"Watchers?  Sure!  The  honest  candidate,  say,  has  a 
couple  of  watchers  at  every  poll.  Well,  what  happens? 
I  go  up  to  vote  in  the  name  of  a  dead  man.  I  vote  myself 
as   John   Jones,    aged   43.     The   watcher   challenges    me: 


EARLY  RECOLLECTIONS  41 

'You  ain't  no  43,'  he  says.  *  I  challenge  your  vote.'  Well, 
I'm  wearing  a  little  pin  in  my  lapel  to  show  I'm  voting 
accordin'  to  the  boss's  orders  and  like  as  not  th'  policeman 
on  duty  (who  owes  his  job  to  th'  boss)  says:  * G'wan.  I 
know  this  guy.  He's  43,  all  right'.  And  th'  challenge  is 
passed  over.  But  if  th'  policeman  is  square  and  it  looks 
like  an  arrest,  th'  gang  cuts  in  with  their  black-jacks  and 
knocks  th'  copper  and  th'  challenger  cold,  and  I  make  my 
get-a-way  durin'  th'  scrap.  But  if  by  any  chance  I'm 
pinched,  th'  boss  of  th'  district  has  got  a  gang  down  at  the 
court  room  before  I  get  there,  and  any  one  of  them  will 
swear  me  out  and  perjure  his  soul  fer  a  two-dollar  note. 
Oh,  there  ain't  no  way  to  beat  it. 

"I  could  go  on  fer  hours  tellin'  you  about  it,  but  what's 
th'  use.  But  you  kin  go  gamble  your  boots  that  th'  men 
who've  been  fixed  for  the  franchise  get  in  if  there  has  to  be 
all  kinds  of  assault  and  murder  done.  And  there  generally 
is.  So  th'  rich  guy  gits  his  franchise,  th'  bosses  git  their 
dough,  th'  aldermen  gits  their  thousand  bucks  apiece, 
and  th'  gang  gits  their  fifty  dollars  apiece  and  license  to 
steal  and  murder  whenever  they  like  without  no  fear  of 
doing  time  fer  it. 

"If  they  can't  fix  th'  mayor  with  dough,  and  they  need 
him  in  their  business,  they  promise  to  make  him  governor 
or  senator  or  ambassador  or  supreme  court  judge. 

"It's  th'  same  way  with  all  the  bigger  jobs:  the  people 
that  go  to  congress  and  so  on.  No  President  can  git 
elected  without  th'  rich  guys  and  the  political  bosses  back 
of  them.  'Course  every  now  and  then  th'  people  git  can- 
tankerous and  start  reforms  and  then  th'  bosses  put  some 


42  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

guy  on  the  ticket  fer  mayor  or  governor  who's  got  a  good 
rep  and  use  him  fer  a  stall  to  elect  a  lot  of  crooked  guys 
who'll  vote  agin  everything  the  straight  guy  wants  done. 
Oh,  there  ain't  no  way  to  beat  it,  kid. 

"I've  learned  my  lesson"  he  added  with  a  funny,  choking, 
little  cough.  "If  I'd  a  joined  one  of  these  here  poUtical 
clubs  or  secret  organizations  and  always  voted  'right'  and 
bin  a  good  'party'  man,  I'd  never  done  no  three  years  up- 
river  fer  burglary.  But  as  soon  as  they  finds  you've  got 
no  political  pull,  the  judges  and  all  git  very  moral; 
throw  the  book  at  you  and  tell  you  to  add  up  the  sentences 
in  it.     I've  learned  my  lesson  all  right." 

"Is  everybody  rotten  then?"  I  asked,  the  tears  in  my 
eyes.  "  Is  everybody  willing  to  do  everything  that's  wrong 
just  for  a  few  dirty  dollars?  Oh,  Rag,  it  can't  be  as  bad 
as  that.     Everybody  isn't  that  way." 

"Of  course  not,  kid,"  he  answered,  "I  know  that.  But 
in  the  big  cities  the  'square  guys'  don't  count.  Up  in  New 
England  and  in  the  Middle  West  and  the  South,  where 
th'  votes  come  from  the  people  in  the  country,  th' 
best  man  ginrally  wins;  but  it's  the  big  cities  that  rule  the 
United  States  and  in  them  there's  only  two  things  that 
count:  a  lot  of  dough  and  a  lot  of  political  pull." 

"If  you  have  those  two  things,  in  other  words,"  I  said, 
"you  can  do  anything  you  like?" 

He  nodded.  "Not  stopping  at  murder,"  he  qualified. 
"Of  course  there  are  plenty  of  good  guys  who  play  fair  and 
square  and  make  a  few  million  dollars  honestly  and  pay 
their  people  a  square  amount  and  try  to  do  all  the  good  they 
kin.     I  ain't  downin*  a  man  jest  cause  he's  rich  —  I  ain't 


EARLY  RECOLLECTIONS  43 

no  anarchist.  But  most  of  th'  men  that's  got  more'n  a 
few  million  is  so  greedy  for  more  that  they'll  do  anything, 
and  so  long  as  they've  got  crooked  politicians  to  do  their 
dirty  work,  they'll  always  git  it  done." 

I  had  a  long  talk  with  Hilary  about  this  business  when  I 
got  home,  and  Mr.  Axtell  patted  "Rag"  on  the  back  and 
said,  "Good  boy !"  He  gave  him  a  twenty-dollar  bill,  too, 
but  he  didn't  have  much  to  say,  only  nodding  at  the  re- 
marks Hilary  made. 

It  seems  that  "Rag"  wasn't  exaggerating.  It  has  made 
me  feel  very  miserable  and  I  hardly  slept  at  all  last  night, 
so  I'm  putting  all  this  down  so  that  I  won't  forget  any  of  it. 

It  seems  to  me  that  something  ought  to  be  done  to  these 
criminals,  rich  and  poor  alike,  and  if  everybody  felt  as  I 
do,  I'm  sure  something  tooidd  be  done. 

What  nonsense  I'm  talking!  I  suppose  when  I  grow 
up  I'll  be  just  like  all  the  other  people  and  not  pay  any 
attention  to  such  things,  but  just  go  on  trying  to  make  a 
fortune  for  myself.  I  don't  think  so,  though,  because 
I  don't  particularly  care  anything  about  money,  and  I  do 
hate  people  who  take  advantage  of  other  people  who  are 
weaker  or  have  less  brains  than  they  have. 

To  my  mind  (and  of  course  I  know  my  opinions  don't 
amount  to  anything:  still  in  my  own  diary  I  can  say  what 
I  like)  a  man  ought  to  be  so  happy  about  having  better 
brains  and  more  strength  than  the  average  person  that 
he  would  find  the  greatest  pleasure  in  helping  other 
people  who  haven't  got  them  —  like  the  old  knights  I 
read  about  in  Froissart  who  went  about  helping  people 
in  distress. 


44  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

Of  course  (mind  you)  I  don't  think  that  a  labourer,  for 
instance,  needs  the  same  luxuries  that  a  man  of  finer  brain 
and  weaker  body  does;  but  I  do  think  that  every  man  who 
is  willing  to  work  eight  hours  a  day  is  entitled  to  plenty  of 
food,  a  clean  place  to  live  in,  and  warm  clothes  and  fires 
in  winter,  and  ice  in  summer;  also  enough  money  to  bring 
up  his  children  decently.  No  matter  what  kind  of  work 
he  does,  if  it  is  real  work  he  is  entitled  to  those  things. 
And  he  can't  get  them  on  $1.50  or  $2  a  day,  can  he? 

I  have  no  use  for  people  that  won't  work,  though;  not 
the  least  in  the  world;  that  is  unless  they  have  some  affliction 
like  Mr.  Axtell  and  canH  work. 

I  do  wish  everything  in  this  world  wasn't  so  com- 
plicated. 

However,  it  means  that  I've  got  to  study  and  read  hard 
and  learn  the  ins  and  outs  of  everything.  I  don't  want 
to  make  up  my  mind  hastily  before  I'm  fourteen. 

Ill 

THE   FIRST  THEFT 

March  8,  1902  —  After  I  read  over  the  last  entry  in 
this  book,  it  sounded  so  absolutely  childish  that  I  was  going 
to  tear  it  out.  Not  what  "Rag"  said,  of  course,  for  that 
was  good  common  sense,  but  the  rest  of  it  about  myself. 
I  don't  know  why  I  should,  but  I  suppose  everybody  who 
keeps  a  diary  has  a  lurking  suspicion  that  it  will  be  read 
some  day  and  tries  to  put  down  things  that  are  worth  read- 
ing. Anyhow,  I  swore  I  wouldn't  write  anything  more  in 
it  until  I  had  something  of  some  importance  to  say,  and 


EARLY  RECOLLECTIONS  45 

now  that  I  have  I  don't  know  whether  to  put  it  down  or 
not;  because,  although  I  did  what  I  know  was  right 
still  there  is  that  bugaboo,  ihe  law,  that  sent  "Rag" 
to  prison,  and  I'm  sure  that  I'd  break  down  and  plead  and 
cry  like  a  baby  if  they  tried  to  send  me  there. 

As  I  think  it  over,  it  seems  incredible  that  I'm  only  four- 
teen years  old  —  fourteen  last  February.  But  then  I 
haven't  lived  the  life  of  the  usual  child:  I've  never  had  a 
boy  or  girl  companion,  never  gone  to  school,  never  played 
games  or  had  toys  —  that  is,  unless  you  call  picture  books 
toys.  And  then  I'm  tremendously  large  for  my  age  and 
not  a  bit  gawky  like  the  usual  kids —  I  stand  five  feet  seven 
high  and  weigh  one  hundred  and  thirty-seven  pounds, 
stripped,  in  our  gynmasium;  and  on  my  fourteenth  birthday 
I  put  on  long  trousers.  More  than  that,  I  knocked  "Rag" 
out  the  other  day  and  he  stayed  "out"  for  three  minutes  by 
the  stop  watch.  I  must  have  a  lot  of  strength  to  do  that, 
but  then  I've  been  punching  the  bag  since  I  was  eight  and 
boxing  with  "Rag"  for  five  years,  and  every  day  I  walk  at 
least  ten  miles. 

I  want  Hilary  to  send  me  to  college,  but,  for  some  reason, 
he  won't  do  it.  It  can't  be  that  he  can't  afford  it,  for  we 
live  very  expensively  here  on  Chapel  Street,  and  Hilary 
paid  $50  for  my  long  trouser  suit  and  gives  me  $5  a  week 
spending  money. 

I  don't  know,  of  course,  whether  Mr.  Axtell  or  Hilary  owns 
the  house;  it  may  be  Mr.  Axtell.  Anyhow,  Hilary  says, 
"Cawn't  afford  a  'Varsity  career,  my  boy."  And  then  he 
added:  "I'm  a  mawsterof  arts,  Oxon,  and  what  bally  good 
has  it  done  me,  eh,  what?" 


46  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

(I  used  to  talk  like  that  myself,  once,  but  Mr.  Axtell  and 
"Rag'*  and  George  le  Fay  and  all  the  other  men  who 
came  to  our  house  made  so  much  fun  of  it  that  I've 
stopped  it.  [Hilary  doesn't  seem  to  mind  their  "chaff," 
as  he  calls  it.) 

Hilary  is  splendidly  educated.  He  reads  De  Maupas- 
sant and  Flaubert  and  Balzac  in  the  original  French,  and 
Karl  Marx  and  Schopenhauer  and  Nietzsche  in  German. 
Besides  that,  he  has  a  wonderful  knowledge  of  the  classics, 
which  he  has  tried  to  impart  to  me,  but  Mr.  Axtell  told 
him  one  day  that  is  was  all  nonsense  stuflSng  my  head  with 
dead  languages,  so  I  stopped  my  Latin  after  I'd  finished 
"Caesar's  Commentaries"  and,  as  far  as  Greek  is  concerned, 
I  was  only  half  through  Xenophon. 

Hilary  shakes  his  head  over  this;  but  I'm  working  twice 
as  hard  at  my  French  and  German.  George  le  Fay  helps 
me  with  the  first  (his  real  name  is  Georges  Lefebvre  and 
he  is  half  French,  half  Irish)  and  Morgenstein  is  of  great 
assistance  in  conversational  German.  Everybody  who 
comes  to  our  house  is  very  patient  with  me  and  they  all 
seem  to  take  a  great  interest  in  my  education  —  even  old 
Van  Tromp  (whom  I  do  not  like),  for  he  taught  me  all  I 
know  about   machinery. 

He  has  been  dead-broke  for  a  year  now  and  drunk  most 
of  the  time;  so  the  other  day  I  heard  Mr.  Axtell  tell  him 
that  if  he  expected  to  get  another  cent  out  of  him  he'd 
have  to  take  the  pledge  and  look  after  our  motor-car.  (We 
have  had  so  much  trouble  with  chauffeurs.)  He  said  he 
would  pay  Van  Tromp  to  take  care  of  the  car,  and  run  it 
when  necessary,  and  he  would  also  give  him  a  room  in  the 


EARLY  RECOLLECTIONS ,  47 

attic;  but  if  he  got  drunk  one  single  time  he  would  throw 
him  out  and  never  let  him  in  the  house  again. 

I  think  Mr.  Axtell  is  too  severe  with  the  poor  old  fellow; 
he  must  be  nearly  seventy  and  he  seems  half-witted.  I 
don't  understand  him  at  all:  he's  always  coming  up  to  me 
leering  (he  hasn't  any  teeth)  and  saying: 

"Well,  boy,  he's  pilin'  it  UP:  pilin'  it  UP,  ain't  he?" 

I  always  say  "yes,"  although  I  don't  know  what  he's 
talking  about,  and  then  he  acts  as  though  I'd  made  the 
cleverest  answer  in  the  world: 

"Bright  boy;  bright  boy!  And  a  lot  of  good  it'll  do 
HIM.    Har,   har!" 

And  off  he  shambles,  still  rubbing  his  hands:  it  sounds 
like  the  manicurist  using  sand-paper  on  your  finger  nails. 

Here  I  am  again  just  covering  page  after  page  and  not 
putting  down  a  word  of  the  most  important  thing  that  has 
ever  happened  to  me. 

It  was  some  time  in  October  last  that  Hilary  and  I  were 
standing  in  front  of  the  Brevoort  House  and  we  saw  a 
woman  carrying  a  big  bundle  start  across  Fifth  Avenue; 
just  then  a  touring  car  swung  out  of  Eighth  Street,  and, 
before  we  knew  what  had  happened,  she  was  lying  in  the 
middle  of  the  road,  groaning  and  crying.  The  motor 
never  stopped;  it  went  right  on,  but  I  saw  the  number  and 
wrote  it  down. 

The  woman's  leg  was  broken  in  three  places.  I  went 
to  the  hospital  to  see  her.  Her  name  is  Elizabeth  Mimble 
and  she  lives  in  Washington  Court,  a  narrow  little  alley 
off  McDougall  Street.  She's  had  a  pretty  hard  time,  p>oor 
thing;   carried   bundles   for   Madame  Francesca,  the  big 


48  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

Fifth  Avenue  milliner,  for  a  long  time  and  then  got  to  be 
an  assistant  seamstress  or  something.  Finally,  she  left  to 
go  in  business  for  herself  because  she  had  two  little  sisters 
to  support. 

Hilary  told  me  not  to  meddle  in  the  case,  but  I  made  so 
much  fuss  that  he  sent  for  his  lawyer,  and  the  lawyer  found 
out  from  the  number  I  wrote  down  that  the  machine  be- 
longed to  Lycurgus  Yancey,  the  big  real-estate  man.  He 
compromised  the  case  for  five  hundred  dollars  and  her 
hospital  expenses,  and  when  Miss  Mimble  came  out  she 
was  very  grateful.  I  am  sorry  for  her.  She  is  so  uncom- 
plaining about  everything,  and  she  calls  me  "sir"  all  the 
time  until  it  makes  me  feel  very  uncomfortable. 

Well,  now,  it  appears  that  she  wasn't  cured  at  all; 
gangrene  set  in  and  her  leg  had  to  be  amputated.  All  the 
five  hundred  dollars  went  for  doctors'  and  surgeons'  bills,  and 
when  Hilary's  lawyer  saw  Mr.  Yancey  again  he  refused  to 
give  any  more  money.  So  the  lawyer  took  the  case  to  court, 
but  Mr.  Yancey  proved  that  he  had  compromised  it,  and 
brought  the  doctors  from  the  hospital  to  swear  that  Miss 
Mimble  was  cured  once  and  that  the  gangrene  was  due  to 
her  own  carelessness;  so  she  lost  the  case. 

One  of  the  little  sisters  —  twelve  years  old  —  got  a  posi- 
tion wrapping  bundles  at  three  dollars  a  week  in  a  big  depart- 
ment store  on  Sixth  Avenue,  and  that  was  all  they  had  to  live 
on  (the  other  sister  is  only  eight),  so  I  took  the  twelve-year- 
old  one  aside  and  told  her  to  tell  Miss  Mimble  she  was  getting 
twice  as  much  as  she  really  was  and  I  gave  her  that  much 
more  out  of  my  spending  money. 

It  left  me  rather  strapped,  naturally;  I  had  hardly  any- 


EARLY  RECOLLECTIONS  49 

thing  for  car  fares;  so  the  other  day  I  had  to  ask  Hilary  for 
an  extra  dollar  and  he  wouldn't  give  it  to  me;  then  I  told 
him  what  I  was  doing. 

Mr.  Axtell  immediately  frowned  at  Hilary  and  said: 

"That's  the  proper  spirit,  my  boy.  Hereafter,  I'll  give 
you  the  money  for  the  woman.  Keep  your  allowance. 
Now  run  along.     I  want  to  talk  to  Hilary." 

And  now  I'm  going  to  tell  you  about  the  oddest  coin- 
cidence. The  next  day  Hilary  went  walking  with  me,  and 
we  went  into  the  Hudson  River  Bank.  Hilary  took  the 
manager  aside  and  asked  him  a  great  many  questions  about 
starting  an  account  there.  Then  he  got  into  conversation 
with  him  about  England  and  they  talked  along  for  quite 
awhile.  Hilary  finally  broke  off  the  conversation  by  looking 
at  his  watch  and  telling  the  bank  manager  what  a  hurry  he 
was  in,  for  it  was  past  time  for  an  engagement  he  should 
have  kept.     We  went  out  and  Hilary  whispered: 

"You  know  that  beast,  Yancey;  the  fellow  who  wouldn't 
pay  that  poor  girl  anything  —  the  one  that  lost  her  leg, 
y'know  —  Trimble  or  Thimble  or  some  such  ridiculous 
name?" 

"Mimble,"  I  said,  "and  I  don't  see  anything  ridiculous 
about  it." 

"No,  no,  of  course  not,  dear  boy;  I  was  only  pulling  your 
leg  a  bit,  y'know.     Well,  there  he  goes!" 

He  nodded  toward  a  man  who  was  crossing  the  street. 

"Yancey?" 

"He's  just  drawn  a  thousand  dollars  in  tens  and  twen- 
ties," Hilary  said,  nodding.  "I  noticed  it  while  I  was 
talking  to  the  manager.     He  put  the  lot  in  a  leather  wallet 


50  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

and  it*s  in  his  right-hand  hip  pocket.  He'll  probably  blow 
it  all  on  chorus  girls  and  champagne  to-night  and  that  poor 
Miss  —  whatever  her  name  is  —  could  live  comfortably 
for  a  couple  of  years  on  it.'* 

"Yes,  poor  thing,"  I  said,  thinking  how  pitiful  her  case 
was  and  how  patient  and  sweet-tempered  she  was  about  it. 

"Poor  thing!"  echoed  Hilary,  and  very  shortly:  "Yes, 
that's  all  you  or  any  one  else  can  say.  That's  the  way 
abuses  go  unrectified.  Why,  if  I  were  as  young  as  you  and 
as  clever  as  you  about  taking  other  people's  watches  and 
things  when  they're  not  looking  —  as  you  did  with  me  two 
or  three  times  —  I'd  cut  after  that  chap  and  take  his  wallet 
away  from  him  and  give  the  money  to  the  woman  you're 
always  whining  about." 

We  had  crossed  the  street  and  Mr.  Yancey  was  only  about 
five  yards  in  front  of  us  walking  down  Fifth  Avenue. 

"But  that  would  be  stealing,"  I  said,  "and  they  put  you 
in  jail  for  stealing,  don't  they?" 

"Is  it  stealing  to  make  a  poor  woman  happy  with  money 
taken  from  a  rich  soundrel  who  has  crippled  her  for  life?" 
he  asked,  very  cross  indeed. 

"Why,  n-no,"  I  stammered,  "I  guess  not,  Hilary." 

"And  who'll  only  spend  it  in  dissipation,"  he  pursued. 
Grosser  if  possible. 

I  shook  my  head. 

"Well,  then,"  he  said,  with  an  ugly  little  twitch  of  his 
mouth,  "then  you're  a  coward,  that's  all.  You're  afraid 
of  going  to  jail.  You  prefer  to  beg  me  and  Axtell  for  money 
to  give  to  your  prot6g^s.  Oh,  it's  very  easy  to  be  charitable 
with  money  you  don't  take  any  trouble  or  risk  to  get." 


EARLY  RECOLLECTIONS  Bl 

I  felt  very  much  ashamed. 

'*  Do  you  think  I  could  get  that  wallet?"  I  asked  eagerly, 
thinking  of  poor  Miss  Mimble  and  how  glad  she  would  b« 
to  have  a  thousand  dollars. 

"You  took  my  watch  and  chain  without  my  knowing 
it,  didn't  you?  And  George  le  Fay's  stick  pin  and  Mor- 
genstein's  bank  roll;  eh,  what?" 

"But  that  was  only  fun!" 

"Well,  now  here's  a  chance  to  be  in  earnest.  Will  you 
do  it?" 

"Yes,"  I  said  bravely;  but  I  didn't  feel  at  all  brave,  I 
assure  you,  when  I  left  Hilary  behind  and  started  to  walk 
closer  to  Mr.  Yancey. 

Of  course,  I  didn't  try  to  do  anything  while  he  was  just 
walking;  but  when  he  came  to  Thirty-fourth  Street  he 
had  to  stop  for  a  few  minutes  because  there  was  quite  a 
jam  of  street  cars,  carriages,  motors,  and  trucks  —  and  no 
end  of  people  were  crowded  along  the  curb  waiting  for  a 
chance  to  get  across.  I  got  close  to  Mr.  Yancey  and  several 
times  I  put  out  my  hand  to  lift  his  coat  tails  —  he  was 
wearing  a  cutaway  —  but  each  time  I  thought  everybody 
was  looking  at  me  and  I  put  the  hand  back  in  my  pocket. 
Cold  chills  were  running  up  and  down  my  back;  but  I  knew 
I  wouldn't  have  another  chance  as  good  as  this  one  unless 
he  walked  over  to  Broadway,  so  when  the  policeman  held 
up  his  hand  to  keep  the  other  vehicles  back  and  beckoned  to 
us  to  cross,  I  sort  of  stumbled  against  Mr.  Yancey  as  though 
some  one  had  shoved  me  from  behind,  held  the  pocket 
open  with  one  hand  and  slipped  the  wallet  out  with  the 
other,  immediately  running  it  up  my  sleeve,  as  I'd  been 


52  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

taught  to  do,  and  putting  my  hand  in  my  pocket  very  un- 
concernedly, although  it  was  trembling  like  anything. 

It  wasn't  really  very  dangerous,  after  all;  for  in  that 
crowd  nobody  could  see  what  I  was  doing  and,  beside,  the 
whole  operation  couldn't  have  consumed  ten  seconds;  and, 
of  course,  the  way  you  do  it,  the  person  can't  feel  the  thing 
slipping  out. 

I  was  glad  I'd  done  it,  afterward,  for  Mr.  Yancey 
kept  on  down  Fifth  Avenue,  and  I  turned  west  and  walked 
down  past  the  big  hotel  just  as  though  I  owned  it.  I  was 
very  scared,  though,  and  I  still  imagined  people  were  look- 
ing at  me. 

Hilary  caught  up  with  me  before  I  reached  Broadway  and 
beckoned  to  a  hansom  cab  driver,  who  came  up  to  the  curb. 
Hilary  waved  me  in,  and  when  we  were  seated  held  out 
his  hand  for  the  wallet. 

"I'll  deposit  the  money  and  give  you  my  check  for  the 
what-you-call-it  girl,"  he  said. 

Which  he  did  just  as  soon  as  we  reached  home,  and  he 
was  very  nice  to  me  all  evening;  so  was  Mr.  Axtell,  too,  who 
called  me  "our  little  hero"  and  patted  me  on  the  head. 
(Which  I  wish  he  wouldn't  do,  because,  as  I've  told  you 
before,  it  makes  me  feel  like  the  cat  when  her  fur  is  rubbed 
the  wrong  way  —  I  know  I  ought  to  like  Mr.  Axtell,  but 
somehow  I  just  can't.)  And  George  le  Fay,  who  dropped 
in  after  dinner,  listened  to  what  I  told  him  of  how  I  did  it, 
and  then  shook  me  by  the  hand  just  like  he  would  a  grown 
person,  and  said: 

"As  neat  a  piece  of  work  as  1  ever  heard  of.  Bully  for 
you.  Kid." 


EARLY  RECOLLECTIONS 


53 


And  when  I  carried  the  check  around  to  Betsy  —  she  says 
I  must  call  her  that,  which  I  have  promised  to  do  if  she  will 
stop  saying  *sir'  to  me  —  my  goodness!  I  was  certainly 
glad  to  get  out  of  that  place!  She  just  wept  and  laughed 
and  kissed  my  hand  —  that  is,  until  I  snatched  it  away 
from  her  —  and  made  me  feel  awfully  uncomfortable. 
Still,  when  I  left  her,  I  felt  sort  of  warmed  up  and  nice 
inside  and  like  I  do  when  I  read  Christmas  stories. 

I  looked  in  the  paper  this  morning  to  see  if  Mr.  Yancey 
had  made  any  complaint  to  the  police  about  it;  but  he 
hadn't  said  a  single  word.  I  guess  a  thousand  dollars 
doesn't  make  much  difference  to  him,  and  maybe  he 
thinks  it  just  dropped  out  of  his  back  pocket.  But,  for  a 
funny  thing,  there  was  another  fellow  who  cashed  a  check 
at  that  very  same  bank  and  who  lost  it  while  walking  down 
Fifth  Avenue.  He  did  make  a  fearful  complaint.  I'll  just 
paste  the  clipping  on  here  to  show  you  how  "coincidency" 
rn'A  life  is  —  even  more  so  than  in  stories: 


"AL"  GREEN  ROBBED 

proprietor   of   notorious 

poker  club  relieved  of 

night's    bank-roll. 

$2,500  IN  CASH 


Albert  H.  Green,  who  has  figured  in  the  police  courts  as  the 
president  of  the  notorious  Sachem  Poker  Club  where  "mixed" 
gambling  was  allowed,  yesterday  appeared,  for  the  first  time,  as 
a  complainant  —  a  new  role  for  him.     He  told  the  lieutenant  at 


54  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

the  Tenderloin  police  station  that  he  had  cashed  a  check  for 
$2,500  at  the  Hudson  River  Bank  at  half -past  two  o'clock  yester- 
day afternoon  and  placed  the  money  in  his  wallet,  which,  he  dis- 
covered on  his  arrival  at  his  residence,  after  a  walk  down  Fifth 
Avenue,  had  been  stolen  from  him. 

He  had  no  theory  as  to  how  the  thief  had  managed  to  secure 
the  wallet,  and,  as  the  money  was  in  bills  of  small  denomination, 
there  is  little  chance  of  recovering  it. 

It  was  presumed,  by  those  conversant  in  such  matters,  that  the 
money  was  intended  for  use  as  the  night's  "bank  roll"  in  another 
house  of  chance  which  Green  ;s  said  to  control. 

Green  received  little  sympathy  at  the  hands  of  the  police,  who 
looked  on  the  affair  as  a  case  of  "the  biter  bit,"  in  view  of  the 
numerous  complaints  that  have  been  made  against  Green  for 
"crooked"  gambling;  it  having  been  alleged  that  in  the  Sachem 
Poker  Club  he  maintained  a  game  of  faro  bank  operated  with 
the  notorious  "high  layout." 

I  remember  George  le  Fay  speaking  of  this  "Al"  Green 
the  other  night,  and  saying  something  about  a  fellow  who 
was  "so  mean  he  wouldn't  let  you  set  your  watch  by  his 
clock"  and  who  was  always  "skinning  his  pals."  I  guess 
he  deserved  what  he  got. 

But  I  don't  like  that  word  "thief";  it  sounds  so  low  and 
common  —  like  somebody  who  sneaks  around  and  does 
mean  things.  However,  I  don't  suppose  they'll  change 
the  English  language  to  suit  me;  and  I  guess  I'll  have  to 
acknowledge  to  being  a  —  no,  I  can't  write  it  down. 

However,  Betsy  is  provided  for,  anyhow,  and  I  feel  all  right. 
So  I  don't  care  what  they  call  me.  However,  I  shouldn't 
like  them  to  find  out,  and  send  me  to  prison  like  they  did 
"Rag" — I  dreamed  about  prison  last  night  and  it  was  terrible. 


CHAPTER  IV 
IN  MID-ATLANTIC 
I 

STEPHEN   JANISSARY    HAS    MEMORIES 

THE  deck  steward  began  to  count  the  change  of  a  louis 
d'or  into  the  mechanically  outstretched  palm  of  the 
young  man  in  the  plaid  golf  cap. 

"Fourteen  francs  five  centimes,"  he  remarked,  "and  the 
name,  sir?" 

Reluctantly,  the  young  man  forced  himself  to  remember 
the  existence  of  the  uniformed  functionary. 

"Here,  what's  all  this?"  he  asked,  regarding  the  silver 
in  his  hand. 

"Your  change  of  a  louis,  sir;  the  steamer  chairs  are  a  dol- 
lar for  the  trip." 

"Take  it,"  said  the  young  man.  The  steward,  impressed 
by  such  unusual  liberality  so  early  in  the  trip,  became 
eagerly  deferential  in  expectation  of  future  largesse. 

"That's  all  right;  quite  all  right.  Now  you  notice  that 
young  lady  in  the  red  tam-o'-shanter,  steward?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Place  my  chair  next  to  hers." 

56 


d6  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"Yes,  sir." 

The  steward  started  off. 

"And,  steward " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Don*t  let  the  young  lady  think  that " 


"Quite  naturally  not,  sir.  But,  if  you  will  excuse  me  — 
your  name?" 

"Mr.  Adams." 

"Thank  you,  sir." 

The  yoimg  man,  whistling  a  lively  air,  thrust  his  hands  in 
the  pockets  of  his  belted  travelling  coat  and  strolled  aft,  the 
opposite  direction  to  that  taken  by  the  steward.  Circling 
the  drawing-room,  he  strolled  forward  on  the  port  side,  and, 
again  crossing,  stood  in  front  of  the  smoke  room,  coming 
within  the  radius  of  wind-driven  spray  that  stung  his  face 
until  it  was  all  a  tingle. 

For  a  moment  he  imagined  himself  alone;  the  passengers 
all  seemed  an  in-doors  lot,  and  those  who  were  possessed  of 
digestions  enabling  them  to  remain,  had  all  sought 
the  comfortable  starboard  side  of  the  promenade  deck. 
But  here  stood  one  in  magnificent  isolation;  hands  thrust 
deep  into  the  pockets  of  a  shaggy  frieze  ulster,  an  unlighted 
cigar  held  stiflBy  between  clinched  teeth,  and  a  black  hat  of 
velvet  velour  puUed  sharply  over  fierce  eyes  that  unblink- 
ingly  surveyed  the  lowering  sky  and  churning  sea  as  though 
their  turmoil  existed  not  at  all. 

First,  Stephen  Adams's  glance  was  retained  by  the  stran- 
ger's height;  there  were  not  many  who  measured  up  to  the 
young  man's  shoulder,  but  this  one  overtopped  him  a  full 
inch.    Also  he  gave  the  impression  of  enormous  bulk,  an 


IN  MID-ATLANTIC  .    57 

impression  heightened  by  the  thickness  of  the  frieze  garment. 
Then,  too,  there  was  that  about  him  that  gave  Stephen  a 
mental  picture  of  one  who  dominated;  even  a  great  trans- 
atlantic liner  seems  a  toy  in  a  tempest,  its  passengers  impotent 
pygmies;  but  this  man,  somehow,  seemed  to  be  allowing 
the  storm  to  continue  only  because  its  duration  was  a  matter 
of  indifference  to  him. 

Withal  it  was  no  pleasant  dominance.  There  was  a  sat- 
urnine twist  to  the  fellow's  mouth,  an  ugly  brooding  about 
his  eyes,  as  of  one  who  remembered  only  his  enemies,  and 
who,  forgetting  past  victories,  only  guarded  himself  against 
possible  defeats  in  the  future:  a  ruler,  in  all  certainty,  but 
one  who  loved  little  and  hated  much;  who  seemed  resentful 
that  there  should  be  a  power  greater  than  he. 

Delicate  sentiment,  inspired  a  moment  before  by  the  girl 
in  the  red  tam-o  '-shanter,  faded  from  the  mind  of  the  young 
man  as  his  impressions  of  the  stranger  painted  a  new  picture 
for  him,  the  contemplation  of  which  resulted  in  a  retrospect 
of  many  disagreeable  things,  followed  by  a  horoscope  of 
others  equally  unpleasant  but  deemed  inevitable  by  pessi- 
mists following  his  dangerous  calling.  Not  that  the  stranger 
was  likely  to  be  connected  in  any  official  capacity  with  the 
law;  policemen,  secret-service  men,  even  diplomatic  agents 
—  the  young  man  knew  them  all;  the  Government  could 
command  the  services  of  no  man  capable  of  coping  with 
Stephen  Adams.  Those  who  had  such  notable  ability 
fought  battles  for  themselves  against  the  State,  not  for  it. 

No  —  it  was  but  the  disagreeable  sensation  of  having 
come  into  the  presence  of  one  whose  sinister  personality 
negatived  any   assurance  that  he,  Stephen  Adams,   was 


58  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

cleverer  than  all  the  world.  It  was  seldom  he  met  such 
folk;  a  success  had,  so  far,  always  been  his.  He  was  one 
man  against  all  the  world  —  a  lone  hand  that  fought  and 
won  whenever  it  had  been  raised  in  the  cause  of  the  op- 
pressed. Here  was  a  stranger  who  fought  and  won,  too, 
but  it  was  as  an  enslaver;  an  enemy  of  the  people  more 
powerful  perhaps  than  Stephen  was  a  friend. 

So  magnetized  was  the  young  man's  mind  to  impressions, 
so  necessarily  had  he  developed  the  sense  of  the  animal  that 
hunts  and  is,  in  turn,  hunted,  that  people  of  strong  person- 
alities affected  him  barometrically.  The  sense  that  men 
concede  to  women,  somewhat  superiorly,  as  "intuition," 
but  which  is  really  that  alertness  of  mind  given  her  to  pro- 
tect her  young,  was  his  in  a  more  developed  sense. 

Thus  he  viewed  the  man  as  an  enemy. 

Stephen's  gaze  turned  upon  him;  the  telepathic  current 
affected  the  silent  one.  The  hat  of  velvet  velour  bobbed, 
the  head  swivelled,  the  deep  simken  eyes  met  the  defiant 
ones  of  the  tall  youth. 

The  crossing  of  glances  had  no  such  effect  as  Stephen 
Adams  had  contemplated.  Braced  almost  for  physical 
attack,  he  was  surprised  to  see  the  other  start  as  one  afraid, 
the  action  almost  equivalent  to  the  throwing  of  a  hand  up 
to  guard. 

And  yet  there  was  no  triumph  in  Stephen's  mind;  this 
unexpected  eccentricity  in  no  way  changed  his  estimate  of 
the  man's  malefic  worth.  It  was  as  though  some  neutral 
party  had  suddenly  interfered  between  armour-girded  cham- 
pions whose  swords  were  about  to  cross  —  an  accident  that 
neither  would  be  base  enough  to  turn  to  his  own  advantage. 


IN  MID-ATLANTIC  69 

The  older  man  spoke,  his  voice  holding  some  peculiar 
quality  that  Stephen  knew  to  be  other  than  fear,  but  which 
might  have  been  so  classified  by  one  of  inferior  intuition: 

"Do  I  know  you,  young  man?" 

"No,  sir." 

The  appellation  had  slipped  out.  Stephen  bit  his  Up  in 
vexation  at  his  involuntary  respect. 

"Well,  then,"  queried  the  other  harshly,  evidently  re- 
covering his  poise,  "why  are  you  staring  at  me?" 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Stephen  truthfully. 

The  other  made  some  untranslatable  noise  in  his  throat, 
his  eyes  still  searching  those  of  the  young  man. 

"You  remind  me,"  he  said  at  length,  "of  some  one. 
Some  one,"  he  continued,  losing  himself  in  retrospection, 
"who  was  very  close  to  me  —  and  who  —  yes — whining, 
snivelling  always  —  and  looking  —  looking  —  Eyes!  Eyes!" 

He  turned  quickly. 

"Eyes,  that's  it,  eyes!"  he  said,  and  stepped  forward 
until  there  was  barely  enough  room  between  them  to  raise 
a  hand. 

"Your  eyes,  young  man,  have  given  me  an  unpleasant 
memory!" 

"  I  *m  sorry, "  averred  Stephen,  although  his  tone  belied 
his  words.     "What  was  it?" 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  the  other.  "Some  person 
had  eyes  Uke  yours  —  eyes  that  I  saw  every  day  when  I 
would  rather  not  have  seen  them.    That  is  the  memory." 

And  then,  suddenly: 

"You're  tall,  boy!" 

"Six  feet  two!" 


60  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"  My  height  at  your  age  —  you  're  about  my  weight,  too. 
Unusual!  I'm  tall.  I'm  not  accustomed  to  being  looked 
squarely  in  the  eyes.    You  do  it!" 

He  wrinkled  his  brow  again,  thinking  hard. 

"That  memory!  A  damned  unpleasant  one!  What 
did  you  say  your  name  was?" 

"Adams!" 

"American,  by  your  accent." 

"I  didn't  think  I  had  one." 

"Ashamed  of  it,  eh?  English  clothes!  I  know  your 
brand,  boy.  Father  made  money  in  the  United  States  for 
his  son  to  spend  in  Europe  and  ape  these  bowing,  scraping 
foreigners  —  damn  'em!" 

"That  bowing  and  scraping,"  said  Stephen,  turning  cold, 
"is  preferable  to  profanity  and  bad  manners  on  short 
acquaintance." 

"Profanity?    Bad  manners?    You  mean  me?'^ 

"Your  comprehension  is,  at  least,  quick!" 

"Why,  damn  it,"  said  the  older  man  suddenly  surprised. 
"It's  almost  a  pleasure  to  find  some  one  big  enough  to  insult 
me.  But  then,"  he  added,  sneering  slightly,  "you  wouldn't 
be  big  enough  if  you  heard  my  name.  You'd  be  like  the 
others  then  —  complaining  and  yelping  like  a  lot  of  whipped 
children  and  frightened  curs  when  my  back's  turned;  boot- 
licking when  I  condescend  to  notice  them." 

"Goliath  only  needed  a  pebble  thrown  by  an  expert  hand," 
said  Stephen  casually.  "And  now,  since  you're  been  so 
frankly  unpleasant  with  me,  permit  me  to  reciprocate.  I 
find  your  manners  deficient,  your  egotism  amusing,  and 
your  companionship  a  bore.    Good  day  to  you,  sir." 


IN   MID-ATLANTIC  61 

The  other  caught  his  arm  as  he  would  have  passed  him. 

"Just  a  moment,"  he  said,  almost  pleadingly.  "That 
memory  again  —  odd  —  odd!  Young  man,"  he  went  on, 
the  appeal  gone  from  his  tone,  "the  end  comes  when  a  man 
begins  to  forget  when  he  wants  to  remember.  It  is  only  the 
weak  who  want  to  forget.  The  strong  fear  forgetfulness. 
Your  name  was  —  Adams?" 

"At  least,"  said  Stephen,  "I  find  you  a  man  big  enough 
to  overlook  petty  insults  to  accomplish  your  ends.  This 
memory  you  speak  of  seems  to  worry  you.  Can  I  assist  you?" 

"  I  asked  you  a  moment  ago  if  you  were  American." 

"You  mean  you  said  something  to  annoy  me.  Yes,  I 
am  American,  by  education  and  adoption.  I  had  an  Eng- 
lish father  —  he  died  in  India  —  and  an  uncle  brought  me 
up  in  New  York.  I've  never  met  you  before,  so  you  can't 
have  any  memory  that  concerns  me.  Now,  if  you  don't 
mind " 

He  released  the  other's  grip  on  his  arm  so  easily  that  the 
older  man's  face  again  took  on  a  look  of  surprise. 

"You  have  strength ! ' * 

"So  I've  been  told  before!" 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  then  said  with  sudden 
curiosity: 

"Your  own  name?" 

"You've  amused  me,  boy,"  said  the  other  roughly. 
"Perhaps  you'll  amuse  me  again  if  you  don't  know  my 
name.    Its  effect  is  always  the  same  on  men." 

Without  further  words  he  left  Stephen  staring  and  in  a 
state  of  mind  which  he  found  it  diflScult  to  explain  to  him- 
self.    He  turned  his  gaze  to  the  storm-swept  sea,  and,  for 


62  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

the  first  time,  realized  that  while  the  colloquy  between 
him  and  the  stranger  had  gone  on  he  had  allowed  himself 
to  be  thoroughly  wetted  by  wind  and  spray.  Somehow, 
he  found  an  odd  consolation  in  watching  the  deck- 
high  breakers  through  which  the  ship  was  fighting  its 
way.  He  felt  that  exhaustion  consequent  upon  a  physi- 
cal encounter,  yet  which  only  braces  the  game  fighter  to 
enduring  effort. 

As  the  ship  won  its  way  through  the  storm  inch  by  inch, 
an  almost  personal  triumph  seemed  to  come  to  Stephen. 
He  could  defeat  this  strange  fellow,  but  he  must  do  it  as  the 
ship  was  conquering  the  battling  sea  —  little  by  little, 
backed  by  an  unending  store  of  energy. 

Gradually  his  thoughts  went  back  to  the  girl  in  the  red 
tam-'o-shanter;  and,  taking  up  the  tune  he  had  begun  al- 
most where  he  had  left  it  off,  he  went  below  to  change  to  a 
dryer  protection  against  the  chill. 

n 

DECIMA   DURESS  / 

No  one  would  be  foolhardy  enough  to  dispute  the  truism 
that  conventions  are  —  well  —  conventions;  but  then  it  is 
equally  indisputable  that  boredom  is  —  well  —  worse  than 
violating  the  said  conventions;  and  of  all  places  in  the  world 
where  the  first  yields  to  the  insufferableness  of  the  second 
a  transatlantic  steamer  holds  the  record.  Not  that  Miss 
Decima  was  any  great  stickler,  but  she  liked  to  excuse  her- 
self for  putting  no  obstacles  in  the  way  of  the  young  man 
in  the  foreign-looking  plaid   cap  who  seemed  desirous  of 


IN  MID-ATLANTIC  US 

getting  on  good  terms  with  her.  Her  Continental  experi- 
ence had  taught  her  that  foreigners  were  not  as  chivah-ous 
as  her  own  countrymen  and  that,  if  one  wished  to  retain 
one's  self-respect,  one  must  be  very  careful  about  allowing 
strange  young  men  to  open  conversations. 

However,  it  was  stuffy  in-doors,  and  in  the  open  the  gi- 
gantic canvas  lashed  from  deck  to  deck,  while  serving  its 
purpose  of  keeping  off  wind  and  spray  from  the  passengers 
huddled  up  on  the  starboard  side,  also  kept  out  light  and 
prevented  one  enjoying  a  volume  of  Mr.  Ghent  on  Social- 
ism; so  when  the  young  man  dropped  into  a  chair  recently 
placed  next  to  hers  and  looked  agreeably  at  her,  she  found 
it  impossible  to  stare  icily. 

"It's " 

"Yes,  I  know,"  she  replied,  disappointed  at  this  conven- 
tional beginning. 

"Know  what.?" 

"All  about  the  disagreeable  weather  we're  having;  also 
I  know  what  time  the  ship  made  yesterday,  how  many  miles, 
or  knots,  we're  losing  by  running  into  this  storm,  and  the 
approximate  amount  we'll  be  late  in  New  York." 

"Sorry  to  contradict  you,"  he  laughed,  "but  I  wasn't 
going  to  say  anything  about  the  weather.  When  a  man 
lacks  the  proper  credentials  for  an  introduction,  he  has  to 
do  better  than  that.  What  I  was  going  to  say  was  that  I 
liked  being  among  my  own  people  again." 

"Oh,  you  are  American,  then?" 

"Why,  yes;  couldn't  you  tell?  A  man  I  just  met  said 
I  had  an  American  accent." 

She  made  a  sound  to  indicate  a  negative,  peculiar  to 


64  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

women,  and  scarcely  expressed  by  the  written,  "  Imph-un," 
then  surveyed  him  with  the  eye  of  a  critic. 

"Your  clothes  are  very  Bond  Street-y  and  you  use 
stuff  to  keep  your  hair  smooth;  of  course  that's  English. 
And  your  accent  doesn't  help  any;  it  isn't  anything  in 
particular." 

"So  I  always  thought." 

"I'm  glad  you're  American,  though,"  she  continued, 
"because  I  think  I  should  stop  talking  to  you  if  you  weren't. 
Foreigners  don't  understand  American  girls;  they  —  they 
take  liberties  unless  you're  rigidly  orthodox,  don't  they?" 

Stephen  Adams  rubbed  his  gloved  hands  together 
tentatively. 

"Has  —  er  —  any  one  on  this  boat " 

"Oh,  no!  —  I  haven't  spoken  to  any  one  on  this  boat 
except  you  and  the  stewards.  I've  been  below  with  my 
chaperon  and  had  my  meals  in  our  sitting  room:  she's  been 
quite  ill  since  we  left  Cherbourg.  But  then  she  always 
goes  to  bed  the  minute  we  get  on  a  ship  and  stays  there  till 
we  dock.     I  'd  never  travel  if  I  were  that  way." 

"All  imagination  —  this  seasickness." 

"No.  I'm  sorry  to  be  prosaic,  but  it's  nothing  half  so 
spiritual,  it's  stomach." 

"  So  I  think,"  he  agreed  laughing.  "  But  I  —  er  —  thought 
maybe  *  stomach'  might  be  construed  as  a  liberty." 

"Nothing  that  is  true  and  that  comes  naturally  into  the 
conversation,"  she  said  sedately,  "is  a  liberty.  I  knew  a 
man  once  who  used  always  to  say  '  limbs '  in  front  of  me  and 
sort  of  half  smile.     I  always  hated  that  man." 

He  viewed  her  admiringly.    He  had  hardly  dared  hope 


IN  MID-ATLANTIC  65 

for  intelligent  conversation;  she  was  too  pretty,  and,  though 
she  wore  comfortable  lounging  things,  too  well  groomed. 
Her  wavy  black  hair  was  perfectly  coifed,  her  Persian  lamb 
travelling  coat  form-fitting,  and  her  white  stock  collar  tied 
as  beautifully  as  even  a  master  of  fox-hounds  could  desire. 
He  had  not  fallen  into  the  customary  error  of  deeming  a 
pretty  woman  brainless;  but  he  was  aware  that  pretty 
women  know  that  men  will  put  up  with  any  sort  of  conversa- 
tional silliness  or  listlessness  from  them,  whereas  their 
plainer  sisters  must  strive  to  fasten  themselves  upon  the 
other  sex  by  mental  persuasion. 

His  glance  took  in  the  closed  book  in  her  lap,  but  he  was 
prepared  even  for  Ghent  after  her  last  remark  and  evinced 
no  surprise. 

"A  sane  thinker,"  he  remarked.  "That  is,  as  sane  as 
any  true-blue  Socialist  can  be." 

"Now  don't  you  attack  Socialism"  she  said  warmly. 
"I'm  tired  of  people  who  don't  know  anything  about  it 
saying  it's  all  nonsense.  I,"  she  added,  with  a  certain 
amount  of  pride,  "am  a  Socialist." 

"And  so  am  I,  in  practice,"  he  said  seriously,  "but  not  in 
theory." 

"You  mean  the  other  way  about,  don't  you?"  she  asked 
puzzled. 

"No,  I  mean  just  what  I  say.  Most  Socialists  are  only 
Socialists  in  theory  —  not  in  practice." 

"I  don't  quite  understand." 

"  Well,  I  '11  explain.  My  income  for  the  past  four  years  has 
averaged  about  eighty-five  thousand  dollars  a  year.  Of 
this  I  have  given  each  year  seventy-five  thousand    dollars 


66  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

to  those  who  needed  it  more  than  I  did;  for  I  have  calculated 
that  I  am  entitled  to  ten  thousand  to  supply  the  various 
things  that  are  necessities  to  me." 

She  regarded  him  wide-eyed. 

"You  don't  mean  it?" 

He  laughed.  "That's  the  way  with  you  Socialists:  the 
minute  a  man  puts  your  theories  into  practice,  you  look 
surprised.  However,  that  is  just  what  I  have  done.  I've 
contributed  money  to  people  who  run  free  soup  kitchens 
and  coffee  stands  in  the  winter  and  who  provide  ice  in  the 
summer  and  send  sickly  slum  children  into  the  country. 
I  've  supported  a  good  many  people  who  were  down  on  their 
luck,  and  sent  some  bright  kids  to  college,  and  given  others 
enough  money  to  keep  them  decently  while  they  're  learning 
some  useful  trade.  I  —  well  —  what's  the  use  of  going 
into  details?  I've  done  that  sort  of  thing  with  my  money; 
that's  all!" 

"And  yet  you  don't  believe  in  Socialism?"  she  asked,  too 
amazed  to  express  her  admiration. 

"In  a  way,  yes;  in  another  way,  no.  You  see  equality 
is  a  terrible  weapon  to  put  into  the  hands  of  people  who 
don't  know  how  to  use  it.** 

"Education  makes '* 

"You  can't  educate  a  bom  fool  into  intelligence;  you 
simply  graft  education  upon  his  foolishness,  which  makes 
him  twice  as  bad.  I  suppose  my  beliefs  resolve  themselves 
into  a  benevolent  autocracy;  I  think  the  strong  should 
protect  the  weak,  that's  all.  Because  I'm  stronger  than 
you  is  no  reason  why  I  should  knock  you  down  and  pick 
your  pocket.    But  that's  what  our  laws  permit  me  to  do. 


m  MID-ATLANTIC  Cf7 

only  the  strength  nowadays  is  the  strength  of  brain.  But 
as  for  equality  —  why,  that's  the  way  the  rascals  get  on  top. 
The  really  great  men  won't  stoop  to  flatter  the  prejudices 
and  weaknesses  of  the  brainless,  so  the  unscrupulous  get 
their  confidence  and  use  their  own  votes  to  rob  them.  So- 
cialism would  be  fine  if  the  people  would  have  sense  enough 
to  elect  the  members  of  the  Fabian  Society  to  office,  for  the 
Fabians  are  men  who  work  for  the  good  of  the  people.  But, 
the  people  laugh  at  the  Fabians  and  vote  for  the  demagogue 
who  gives  them  whiskey  at  election  time  and  kisses  their 
babies.  The  majority  of  people  are  fools;  that's  true 
enough,  but  because  a  man's  a  fool  is  no  reason  why  you 
shouldn't  sympathize  with  him  and  help  him  to  have  de- 
cent food  and  clothes  and  a  decent  place  to  live  in.  That's 
my  creed!" 

She  looked  thoughtful. 

"It's  a  very  good  creed,  of  course,"  she  said  hesitatingly. 
"But  don't  you  see  that  puts  everything  in  the  hands  of 
the  individual?  What  we  want  are  laws  that  protect  the 
poor  and  the  foolish." 

"Yes,"  he  replied  promptly  "and  the  poor  and  the  fool- 
ish would,  unfortunately,  be  the  first  to  resent  being  pro- 
tected. Oh,  you  can't  tell  me  anything  about  Socialism. 
I'm  a  Fabian  myself  and  I  vote  the  Socialist  ticket  —  at 
least  I've  voted  it  once  —  and  I've  talked  with  Shaw  and 
Wells  and  Ghent  and  all  the  big  brains  in  the  society.  They 
know  as  well  as  I  do  that  their  general  scheme  is  founded  on 
a  fallacy.  But  they  stick  to  it,  just  as  I  do,  because  it's 
the  best  we  have." 

"What  is  your  solution,  then?"  she  asked. 


68  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"Educate  the  rich  to  understand  that  their  lives  will 
be  twice  as  happy  if  they  spend  them  serving  others  with 
their  brains  and  their  money.  And  they  're  coming  around 
to  it  every  day:  there  are  almost  as  many  rich  Socialists  as 
there  are  poor  ones.  Look  at  Carnegie  and  his  coSperative 
schemes.  That's  the  sort  of  thing  that  helps.  You  see, 
we've  got  to  make  the  rich  understand  that  if  they  don't 
play  fair  with  the  poor,  they'll  have  blood-red  anarchy  on 
their  hands;  and  what's  the  use  of  having  a  French  revolu- 
tion every  few  hundred  years?  That  argument  ought  to 
appeal  to  those  who  sneer  at  the  first  one  —  my  creed  — 
which  is  helping  the  poor  because  it  gives  you  pleasure. 
But  there  are  some  who  won't  listen  to  either;  who  go  on 
bribing  legislatures  and  senators  and  aldermen  to  steal  the 
people's  rights;  who  put  up  the  price  of  necessities  and  leg- 
islate high  tariflf  along  with  it;  who  debauch  our  law-makers 
and  public  servants  with  their  dirty  money  and  who  care 
for  nothing  but  piling  up  their  damned  millions  —  I  beg 
your  pardon " 

"  It  isn  't  necessary.    Go  on ! " 

"Well,  those  men  have  got  to  be  taught  a  lesson;  they've 
got  to  be  treated  as  they  treat  others.  No  self-seeker  is 
impregnable.  Look  at  Napoleon!  If  he'd  worked  for 
the  people  instead  of  for  his  own  ungovernable  ambition, 
his  dynasty  would  rule  France  to-day.  So  with  these  money 
thieves  —  men  like  J.  K.  Dwyer,  Grant  Filliston,  F.  Jere- 
miah Uhler,  and  Stephen  Janissary " 

"Stephen  Janissary,"  she  exclaimed  suddenly.  "Yes; 
you're  right.  I  hate  him!  He  was  my  father's  partner 
and  he  stole  almost  everything  he  had.    Father  died  broken- 


IN  MID-ATLANTIC  69 

hearted,  and,  can  you  imagine  it?  —  Mr.  Janissary  insisted 
on  being  my  guardian  and  executor  because  father  hadn't 
changed  the  will  that  made  him  so  before  he  discovered 
his  treachery.  And  so  the  half  a  million  that  he  left  is  in 
'M(x.  Janissary  *s  hands  and  I  don't  get  anything  but  the 
interest  until  I*m  twenty-one.  I  hate  him!  He's  on 
board  this  ship  now  —  the  beast!" 

"Stephen  Janissary  on  board?*'  asked  Adams  somewhat 
surprised. 

"Yes.  But  he*s  not  with  me;  believe  that.  Mrs. 
Granville  Llewellwyn  is  my  chaperon.  His  being  aboard 
is  just  an  accident." 

"His  name  isn't  on  the  passenger  list,"  said  Adams. 
"But  then,  of  course,  people  like  Janissary  never  register. 
And  so  you're  —  why,  you're  Miss  Duress,  then,  aren't 
you?  The  girl  who  is  building  that  model  tenement  on 
Jonquil  Street?" 

"I'm  not  building  it,"  she  said  mournfully.  "I  need 
five  thousand  more  before  I  can  start  building.  Yes,  I  'm 
Decima  Duress." 

"Decima!  That's  an  odd  name;  the  tenth,  eh?  Were 
you  the  tenth  child?" 

She  laughed.  "No,  the  only  one.  I  was  named  for  my 
grandmother;  she  was  the  tenth.  It  is  odd;  the  only  trouble 
is  they  always  call  you  'Dessie'." 

"That's  a  shame,"  he  protested  boyishly,  "I 
shouldn't." 

"How  we  are  getting  on,"  she  smiled. 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon." 

"First  you  swear  in  front  of  me,"  she  said,  shaking  her 


70  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

head.  "And  now  you  use  my  first  name  on  half -hour's 
acquaintance.    'Liberties*  both  of  them!" 

"The  —  what-you-call-it  slipped  out,"  he  said,  almost 
blushing.     "And  I  didn't  presume  to " 

"Well,"  she  considered  "you  may.  That  is,  if  you'll 
keep  your  promise.  But  the  minute  you  say  'Dessie,'  you 
must  get  very  formal  again.  What's  the  use  of  standing  on 
ceremony  and  being  silly?  We  shall  be  great  friends,  I 
know,  and  there's  no  sense  in  getting  used  to  calling  me 
*Miss  Duress'  only  to  change  it  after  a  month  or  so.  But 
you  haven 't  told  me  your  name." 

"Stephen  Adams." 

"Stephen  Adams?" 

She  gasped  and  sat  looking  at  him. 

"Well;  this  is  a  day  of  surprises.  You  mean,  *  junior, * 
of  course,  though?" 

"No,  I  don't!  My  father  is  dead.  I'm  the  only  one 
there  is  that  I  know  of,  although  I  suppose  it's  a  common 
enough  name." 

"But  you're  so  young." 

"Yes,"  he  regretted,  "I'm  not  twenty-two  yet!" 

"And  you're  the  man  I'd  always  pictured  as  a  gray- 
headed  old  philanthropist  who  looked  something  like  Long- 
fellow's pictures.  Why  I've  read  your  pamphlet  about 
ten  times  —  that  one  —  *The  Duty  of  the  Superman'  — 
and  then  —  all  the  beautiful  things  you've  done.  Oh, 
Mr.  Adams,  I'm  so  glad  to  have  met  you!" 

**  Stephen,"  he  amended,  taking  the  little  outstretched 
hand  which  grasped  his  warmly. 


IN  MID-ATLANTIC  71 

''Stephen,"  she  corrected  obediently. 

"Why,  do  you  know,"  she  went  on,  leaning  back  and  ad- 
miring him,  "for  a  funny  coincidence,  I  was  going  to  write 
to  you  for  that  five  thousand  dollars  I  need  to  start  build- 
ing my  model  tenements?" 

"The  minute  you  spoke  of  needing  five  thousand,  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  give  you  my  check  as  soon  as  we  landed  in 
America." 

"Oh,  no,"  she  protested,  "I  couldn't  permit  it,  now  I 
know  you." 

"  When  you  get  to  know  me  better  you  '11  say  you  couldn  't 
prevent  it,"  he  laughed.  "Don't  be  silly,  my  dear  girl; 
your  tenement  idea  is  just  the  sort  of  thing  I  'd  like  to  have 
started  myself,  but  I  didn't  have  your  social  connections 
to  help  me  raise  subscriptions.  If  you'll  allow  me  to  con- 
tribute the  five  thousand  I'll  take  it  as  a  favour." 

"It  seems  like  begging,"  she  demurred. 

"Only  a  hypocrite  is  ashamed  to  beg  in  a  good  cause," 
he  bantered.  "And  I  know  you  aren't  a  hypocrite.  Hello! 
here's  the  afternoon  paper.  Let's  see  if  anything  exciting 
has  happened  since  we  left  Cherbourg." 

A  sailor,  bearing  an  armful  of  Wireless  Tidings,  the  paper 
printed  daily  aboard  the  big  ships  and  containing  much 
stock  stuflF,  more  advertisements,  and  a  few  thousand  words 
of  purser  embellished  Marconi  despatches,  was  passing, 
and  both  Stephen  and  Miss  Duress  held  out  requesting 
hands.  Each  was  furnished  with  a  copy  and  turned  to 
the  middle  of  the  pamphlet  where  the  news  was  to 
be  found. 

Evidently  La  Belle  France  was  at  peace  with  itself,  for 


72  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

but  one  happening  bore  a  French  date  line.  The  girl  ob- 
served the  young  man  laughing  quietly  as  he  read  it. 

"What's  funny?"  she  inquired. 

"Second  page  of  despatches,  burglary  case,"  he  answered, 
still  smiling. 

She  turned  a  leaf  of  the  pamphlet  and  read : 

NOVEL  SAFE-BREAEING 

Unsuccessful  Painter  Turns  Burglar 

One  Hundred  and  Fifty  Thousand  Francs  Stolen  at 
Chiermontalem,  France 

Notorious  Lottery-Swindler  the  Victim 

On  Saturday  night  last  while  Paul  Ravel,  who  now  occupies 
the  chateau  of  the  Comte  de  Beaufort  at  Chiermontalem,  above 
Chantilly,  was  dining  a  party  of  boulevardiers  and  ladies  from 
Maxim's  and  L'Abbaye  —  the  guest  of  honour  being  Lotta  la 
Fleur,  formerly  a  celebrated  mannequin  for  Caillot  Soeurs,  his 
safe  was  burglarized  and  one  hundred  thousand  franc  notes  taken 
therefrom  along  with  jewellery  valued  at  more  than  half  that  sum. 

The  ingenuity  of  the  theft  lay  in  the  fact  that  the  safe  was  in  the 
room  next  to  that  one  in  which  Ravel  entertained  his  guests,  and 
the  biu-glary  was  no  doubt  accomplished  while  they  sat  at  dinner. 
A  painted  drop,  accurately  representing  that  part  of  the  room  where 
the  safe  stood,  was  left  behind,  evidently  to  show  Ravel  just  how 
the  theft  had  been  accomplished.  There  is  no  other  clue  to  the 
perpetrator  of  the  affair. 

Ravel  was  the  founder  of  the  notorious  Aztec  Lottery  organized 
in  Flushing  which  collected  some  twenty  million  francs  from  the 
peasants  throughout  France  and  Belgium,  and  which,  as  yet,  has 
failed  to  explain  why  those  connected  with  the  management  drew 


IN  MID-ATLANTIC  7S 

all  the  prizes.  He  narrowly  escaped  death  at  the  hands  of  an 
angry  mob  at  Longchamps  the  other  day,  the  opportune  arrival 
of  the  gendarmes  alone  saving  him. 

"I'm  glad  somebody  paid  him  back"  declared  the  girl, 
looking  up  from  the  paper. 

"And  I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  youWe  glad,"  responded 
Stephen,  "which  sounds  silly,  but  isn't." 

"But  I  don't  quite  understand  how  the  thing  was  done 
while  they  sat  at  dinner  —  and  why  this  —  er  —  Ravel 
didn't  discover  it." 

Stephen  opened  his  mouth  eagerly,  then  closed  it  tightly 
again,  and  squinted  at  the  pamphlet,  as  though  holding  it 
at  a  different  angle  would  assist  elucidation. 

"Well,"  he  said,  finally,  "the  way  I  see  it  is  this:  suppose 
this  chair  I  'm  sitting  in  was  a  safe  and  you  were  sitting  over 
there  under  the  drawing-room  windows  with  a  lot  of  shaded 
lights  around,  and  I  put  up  a  screen  in  front  of  this  chair 
(which  we  suppose  is  a  safe).  Now  this  screen  I  put  up  is 
painted  to  represent  the  safe  and  everything  that  stands 
around  it,  and  a  person  looking  in  from  the  next  room  and 
seeing  the  picture  under  the  shaded  lights  would  naturally 
presume  it  was  the  safe  itself;  while  all  the  time  a  man 
equipped  with  burglar's  tools  would  be  kneeling  behind  the 
safe  and  drilling  it  open;  those  'petes'  —  as  cracksmen  call 
them  —  in  people 's  houses  are  generally  very  easy  to  open 
silently  if  you  use  a  lot  of  oil  and  muffle  your  tools  —  at  least 
so  they  tell  me." 

"But  this  screen  —  it  must  have  been  hard  to  get  that 
in  the  house,  mustn't  it?" 


74  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"Naturally.  That's  why  I  think  that  one  of  Ravel's 
guests  must  have  been  a  confederate.  The  crowd  was  out 
there  for  the  night  and  had  come  with  bags  and  things. 
Probably  this  painting  was  rolled  up,  and  —  you  know 
those  rulers  that  fold  into  four  or  five  parts  and  then 
lengthen  out?" 

She  nodded. 

"Well,  the  framework  was  probably  carried  in  that  way 
by  the  guest  who  was  a  confederate,  and  he  slipped  down 
and  put  up  the  screen  and  then  gave  his  *pal'  on  the  outside 
the  *oflBce'  to  come  in  and  'turn  the  trick'.  I'm  just  using 
the  sort  of  talk  that  burglars  do.    Now  do  you  understand?  " 

"Of  course,"  she  said,  smiling.  "How  clever!  What 
a  pity  men  with  brains  enough  to  think  up  such  a  scheme 
will  waste  them  in  being  thieves." 

Stephen  did  not  appear  to  be  inclined  for  argument  on  this 
point.  He  remained  silent,  presently  asked  her  permission 
to  smoke,  and  struck  a  match.  As  his  head  was  bent  over 
his  cupped  hands  he  heard  a  gruff:  "How  d'ye  do,  Dessie," 
and  looked  up  sharply  from  the  flaming  bit  of  wood  to  see  the 
tall,  bulky  man  in  the  heavy  frieze  ulster  pass  on  toward 
the  smoke  room  —  the  man  with  whom  he  had  exchanged 
words  and  glances  an  hour  before. 

He  let  the  match  drop  from  his  fingers  and  twirled  the 
unlighted  cigarette  for  a  moment  in  silence.  A  vague  sense 
of  uneasiness  possessed  him.  He  looked  at  her  once  or 
twice  before  he  was  able  to  ask  his  question,  somehow  finding 
suspicions  in  even  so  small  a  matter. 

He  struck  another  match  first  and  blew  several  rings 
of  smoke. 


IN  MID-ATLANTIC  75 

"Who  was  your  friend?"  he  asked,  with  a  fine  attempt  at 
casualness. 

"He's  no  friend  of  mine,"  she  protested  warmly. 
"/  can 't  help  it  if  I  know  him.      That 's  Stephen  Janissary." 


in 


MARKED    CARDS 

When  Stephen  Adams  turned  the  knob  of  the  door  that 
opened  into  the  sitting  room  of  the  suite  that  he  occupied 
jointly  with  Hilary  Quackenbos  he  found  that  the  door  had 
been  bolted  from  the  inside,  and  rapped  sharply.  Hilary 
Quackenbos,  coatless  and  slippered,  admitted  him  and  closed 
the  door  in  haste,  readjusting  a  wet  towel  over  the  keyhole. 
Stephen  sniffed  and  uttered  a  noise  signifying  displeasure. 

"At  it  again,  eh?"  he  said.  "It  takes  all  my  appetite  for 
my  meals  away,  coming  down  to  change  my  clothes  with 
you  smoking  that  stuff." 

He  followed  Hilary  through  the  sitting  room  of  the  suite 
and  sat  down  on  the  bunk  opposite.  Hilary  scrambled 
back  and,  placing  the  pillows  so  that  he  might  lie  on  his 
side,  dug  out  with  a  long  thin  piece  of  steel  some  chocolate- 
coloured  stuff  from  an  enamelled  box  and  began  toasting  it 
over  a  small  filigreed  lamp  that  burned  olive  oil.  At  first 
it  gave  out  a  rather  pleasant  aroma,  but  when  he  had 
rolled  it  into  pills  of  a  conical  shape  on  a  clay  bowl  which 
was  attached  to  a  huge  stem  of  bamboo,  and  placed  one  of 
these  cones  to  an  orifice  in  the  bowl  —  holding  it  in  place 
with  the  long  steel  needle  —  a  smell  reminiscent  of  Chinese 


76  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

laundries  offended  the  atmosphere.  However,  H  was 
swiftly  swept  forth  through  the  open  port  holes,  and  Stephen 
breathed  freely  again. 

"I  can't  understand  your  infatuation  for  that  stuff,"  he 
complained.  "It  smells  like  the  devil  and  it's  ruined  your 
career.     Why  don't  you  cut  it  out?" 

Quackenbos  smiled  ironically  and  put  another  "pill" 
in  place. 

"  Stevey,  dear  old  chap,"  he  said,  with  the  air  of  one  end- 
ing an  argument,  "don't  rag." 

The  "pill"  having  disappeared  in  smoke,  he  rested  the 
butt  of  the  bamboo  pipe  against  the  bunk. 

"It  quiets  the  mind,"  he  said,  gazing  lovingly  at  the  little 
box,  enamelled  in  gold  and  lacquer.  "It  destroys  ambition 
—  that  restless  ambition  that  forever  keeps  a  man  miserable; 
it  renders  a  man  immune  from  the  petty  insults  of  the  world; 
it  soothes,  it  caresses,  and  it  is  good  for  one  who  meditates 
on  the  follies  of  others.  In  fact,  dear  old  chap,  don't 
rag,  as  I've  said  before.  Have  you  seen  to-day's 
Marconis?" 

"Yes,  I  have,'*  replied  Stephen  shortly. 

"Dear  old  Ravel;  he  was  such  a  howling  bounder!  It 
was  worth  it  to  endure  his  society  and  that  of  his  female 
friends.  Ton  honour,  dear  old  chap,  I  felt  like  saying, 
'Let's  all  go  to  the  trough,'  when  dinner  was  announced. 
If  you  had  heard " 

"  I  heard  all  I  wanted  to  while  I  was  working  behind  that 
screen,"  answered  Stephen,  making  a  gesture  indicative  of 
the  deepest  disgust.  "Men  who  can  tell  such  stories  as 
that!    And  women  who  can  listen  to  them!    Ugh!    Mind 


IN  MID-ATLANTIC  77 

you,  Hilary,  I'm  no  prude.  I  don't  even  set  up  for  a 
moralist;  but  Lord!  I've  got  a  little  aestheticism  and  I 
give  you  my  word  it  was  all  I  could  do  to  keep  from  getting 
up  from  the  floor  and  braining  that  bald-headed  baron 
with  my  extension  jimmy  and  boring  a  hole  in  Ravel 
with  my  electric  drill.  God!  that  such  beasts  should  be 
permitted  to  live  and  walk  the  earth." 

He  arose  and  paced  the  narrow  cabin,  his  hands  clinched; 
presently  he  sat  down  and  looked  at  Hilary. 

"What's  my  bit  amount  to?" 

"  Counting  exchange,  we  '11  have  about  eighteen  thousand 
five  hundred.  George's  stake  should  be  about  a  thousand; 
he's  not  entitled  to  it  because  he  didn't  do  anything,  but 
he's  been  hustling  with  us;  expenses  come  to  twenty-five 
hundred  at  least  —  well,  say  fifteen  thousand  to  split  clean 
between  us.  Of  course  we  can't  get  rid  of  the  junk 
for  six  months." 

"I  know,"  said  Stephen,  nodding  impatiently.  "Well, 
I've  promised  ten  thousand  to  St.  Ignatius 's  Foundling 
School,  so  that'll  about  make  it  up  with  the  money  I've 
got.  But  look  here,  Hilary;  I've  just  gone  and  promised 
another  five  thousand  to  a  Miss  Duress  for  some  model 
tenements!" 

"I  declare  you  are  a  mug,  dear  old  chap,"  said  the  Eng- 
lishman, lifting  the  bamboo  stem  and  scraping  at  the  bowl 
viciously  with  the  yen-hok.  "It's  all  very  well  for  you  to 
be  a  philanthropist  and  get  your  name  in  the  bally  press; 
but,  'pon  honour,  it's  deucedly  silly  to  tie  yourself  up  with 
promises  until  you  have  the  stuff." 

"I  don't  see  what  you're  quarrelling  about,"  said  Stephen 


78  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

ungraciously.  "  I ' ve  made  you  rich,  haven 't  I  ?  You  don  *t 
follow  my  *  silly  ass*  policy  as  you  call  it;  you  put  yours  in 
an  old  sock  and  carry  it  around  your  neck " 

"Oh,  I  say,  you  know,  I  do  no  such  bally  thing,"  inter- 
rupted the  indignant  Quackenbos. 

"American  humour,"  explained  Stephen  wearily.  "Par- 
don it.  But,  as  I  was  saying,  I've  got  to  have  this  five 
thousand  I  spoke  of." 

"Then  perhaps  you'll  find  a  way  to  get  it." 

"Have  no  bally  fear  —  as  you  would  say.     I  have." 

He  took  from  his  pocket  a  packet  of  cards  which  he 
had  purchased  a  few  moments  before  from  the  smoking- 
room  steward. 

"I  shall  steam  off  this  seal,  prepare  some  *strippers,*  and, 
with  the  assistance  of  George,  proceed  to  make  another 
wealthy  gentleman  contribute  to  a  worthy  charity  against 
his  will." 

Quackenbos  paused  in  the  act  of  putting  the  ivory  mouth- 
piece to  his  lips  and  again  rested  the  butt  of  the  opium  pipe 
against  the  side  of  the  bunk. 

"I  declare  now,  dear  old  boy,  this  is  too  vexing;  have  I 
overlooked  anything?" 

"Most  decidedly;  we  haven't  got  a  pack  of  factory-made 
cards,  not  one  of  the  three  of  us.  And  as  for  the  passenger 
list,  why,  you  ought  to  know  people  like  Stephen  Janissary 
don't  register.     What  are  you  trembling  about?" 

"Don't  rag,  old  top,  that's  a  good  boy  —  who?" 

"Stephen  Janissary!" 

The  Englishman  steadied  himself  with  an  effort  and  held 
the  clay  bowl  over  the  flame;  but  the  opium  was  cold  and 


IN  MID-ATLANTIC  79 

broke  into  little  bits.  He  disguised  his  agitation  under 
cover  of  preparing  more. 

"So  he's  aboard,  eh?" 

"I  was  talking  with  him.  Now  there's  a  beast,  Hilary! 
You  don't  have  to  go  into  any  involved  arguments  to  get 
me  to  skin  him." 

Stephen  had  drawn  some  water  from  the  folding  wash- 
hand  stand  on  his  left  and  now  placed  a  silver  travelling 
kettle  containing  it  on  the  electric  heater,  an  invention 
installed  by  the  company  in  the  hope  that  women  would 
cease  to  use  candles  to  prepare  curling  irons  and  thus  mini- 
mize fire-insurance  fees.  He  turned  on  the  electricity 
and  left  the  water  to  boil. 

"Awkward  not  having  factory  cards,"  he  said.  "Every 
now  and  then  you  get  a  fellow  who  knows  about  the  strip- 
pers. What 's  the  matter,  Hilary?    Stuff  giving  you  a  colic?  " 

"Let  me  get  this  correctly:  you  were  talking  to  Stephen 
Janissary  ?" 

"Hang  it  all,  yes!  Got  any  complaint  to  make?  You're 
getting  more  and  more  like  an  old  woman  every  day.  We 
were  beastly  discourteous  to  each  other,  if  that  does  you  any 
good  to  know.     Why  shouldn't  I  talk  to  him?" 

Hilary  forced  a  laugh. 

"Why  not,  eh?  Certainly,  why  not?  Did  he  ask  you 
any  questions?" 

"He  said  I  recalled  a  memory!" 

The  Englishman  started  suddenly. 

"A  memory?" 

"Yes,  my  eyes;  he  said  they  reminded  him  of  some  one  he 
used  to  see  every  day  and  dislike  very  much." 


80  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

Quackenbos  nerved  himself  and  thought  rapidly. 

"Your  father  and  he  were  enemies.  Did  you  tell  him 
your  father  died  in  India?" 

"Yes." 

"But  not  your  name?" 

"I  said  my  name  was  Adams." 

"Stephen  Adams?" 

"No;  just  Adams." 

The  other  breathed  a  long  sigh  of  relief  and  took  the 
deferred  "pill"  in  one  long  draw. 

"Never  tell  him  your  name  is  Stephen,  my  boy,  or  he'd 
likely  persecute  you  as  he  did  your  father.  No,  I  won't 
go  into  the  story :  it 's  too  long  and  painful.  If  he  insists  on 
a  first  name  —  er  —  use  your  middle  one." 

"I  didn't  know  I  had  one." 

"Oh,  dear  me,  yes,"  said  Quackenbos  nervously.  "The 
same  as  mine  —  St.  Geger;  remember,  St.  Geger?" 

"Yes;  I  saw  it  in  a  book  of  yours  once.  But  about 
Janissary  and  my  father  —  tell  me!" 

"Some  day,  maybe;  not  now.  Janissary — he  wronged 
him;  he  —  oh,  I  say,  it's  too  deucedly  harrowing  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing.     I  shan't  tell  you,  Stevey." 

"You  tell  me  Hilary,  or " 

"Don't  be  absurd,  dear  old  boy.  You  can't  force  me, 
you  know." 

"  Well,  you  just  wait  until  you  want  me  to  do  you  a  favour," 
returned  Stephen  shortly,  "  and  see  how  quickly  I'll  do  it." 

He  had  been  holding  the  pack  of  cards  over  the  spout  of 
the  kettle  from  which  the  steam  gushed,  spurted,  and  hissed 
—  spout  and  steam  reminding  Stephen  of  a  very  vicious 


IN  MID-ATLANTIC  81 

little  adder,  rampant  and  darting  forth  a  forked  tongue. 
The  cabin  was  now  very  quiet  except  for  a  suggestion  of 
wind  and  waves  outside,  deadened  by  the  peculiar  construc- 
tion of  the  port  holes;  the  sputtering  of  the  opium  as  Hilary 
held  the  bowl  over  the  flames  and  drew  in  the  smoke;  and 
the  kettle's  subdued  singing.  The  working  of  Hilary's 
wrist  as  he  toasted  more  of  the  chocolate-colored  stuff 
threw  a  shadow  on  the  ceiling  that  was  in  all  seeming  a 
giant's  hand  holding  a  formidable  spear  on  the  end  of 
which  one  imagined  the  head  of  an  enemy. 

The  seal  disposed  of,  Stephen  came  closer  to  the  light  of 
the  fiUgreed  lamp,  and,  taking  his  travelling  bag  from  under 
his  bunk,  opened  it,  the  light  gleaming  on  silver  fittings 
against  a  field  of  red  morocco.  From  among  them  he  se- 
lected a  razor-case  and  tested  one  of  its  ivory-handled  con- 
tents on  his  thumb;  it  proving  satisfactory,  he  shuflBed  the 
pack  of  cards,  threw  out  the  aces  and  queens,  and 
set  to  work  upon  them,  using  the  razor  blade  to  shave  them 
delicately  along  the  edges,  stripping  off  the  enamel  until 
each  card  was  perceptibly  thinned  at  that  point  —  the 
queens  on  the  left  side,  the  aces  on  the  ends. 

To  the  average  eye  there  was  no  change,  however;  but, 
to  make  sure,  Stephen  dealt  out  the  marked  cards  among 
some  others  and  asked  Hilary  if  he  could  identify  them  with- 
out touching.  The  overhead  lights  were  switched  on  and 
Hilary  stared  hard,  then  shook  his  head. 

"Shuffle,  then,"  said  Stephen,  handing  them  to  him, 
"and  see  if  you  can  stack  the  strippers  on  top." 

Hilary  Quackenbos  sat  up  on  the  bunk  and  took  the  pack 
of  cards,  shuffling  and  reshuffling  without  looking  at  them, 


82  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

but  feeling  for  the  sharpened  edges  each  time  he  divided 
the  pack  into  segments.  Finally  he  dealt  from  the  top 
four  aces  and  a  queen  to  Stephen,  three  queens  and  two  low 
cards  to  himself. 

"They're  quite  all  right,  my  boy,"  he  said.  "Now  turn 
off  that  beastly  overhead  light  and  leave  me  in  peace." 

"I  must  dress  for  dinner,"  answered  Stephen,  replacing 
the  cards  in  their  box  and  moistening  the  seal,  which  he  re- 
placed, laying  the  pack  near  the  steam  pipes  to  dry.  "As 
you  have  so  often  remarked,  nothing  inspires  confidence 
so  much  as  faultless  evening  dress.  People  read  about  it 
in  novels,  fall  short  of  it  themselves,  and  greatly  admire 
those  who  can  achieve  it.  Why  don't  you  put  that  rotten 
layout  away  and  dress  yourself?  For  all  you  know  I 
may  need  you." 

"No  jolly  fear,"  returned  Quackenbos  quickly.  "If 
you  can't  turn  this  trick  without  me  it'll  go  unturned; 
George  is  the  man  to  do  it.  Nobody  knows  we  're  acquainted 
with  him.  Between  you  and  me  it  would  look  like 
collusion." 

Stephen  surveyed  him  with  some  disgust. 

"Am  I  in  the  primer  class?  I  don't  want  you  to  help. 
Except  you  might  *  stall*  around  a  little  bit  and  ask  me  not 
to  play,  and  deplore  the  fact  that  your  harum-scarum 
nephew  is  making  ducks  and  drakes  of  his  fortune.  You  *re 
such  a  distinguished-looking  old  scoundrel,  Hilary,  that 
people  would  lose  money  to  your  nephew  just  for  the 
pleasure  of  knowing  you." 

The  younger  man  had  stripped  to  his  underclothes  and 
was  now  fastening  pearl  studs  in  a  shirt  front  of  delicate 


IN  MID-ATLANTIC  83 

muslin,  down  the  centre  of  which  ran  two  tiny  ruffles  with 
places  between  them  for  three  studs.  After  adjusting  the 
mother-of-pearl  cuff  links,  Stephen  laid  down  the  garment 
and  moistened  his  hair  with  a  preparation  that  kept  it 
close  to  his  head,  gave  his  finger  nails  a  httle  attention, 
and  then  arrayed  himself  in  evening  clothes,  unmistakably 
the  work  of  an  artist  and  worthy  of  the  deftly  tied  bit  of 
white  piqu6  that  went  under  his  poke  collar.  The  buttons 
of  his  white  waistcoat  matched  his  sleeve  links  and  the 
clocks  on  his  hose  were  also  white. 

He  slipped  into  a  loose  coat  and  picked  up  his  cap.  Into 
the  pocket  of  his  coat  he  dropped  the  packet  of  marked 
cards,  and  went  up  to  the  smoke  room,  deserted  at  that 
moment,  for  most  of  the  men  were  below  preparing  them- 
selves for  the  first  banging  of  the  dinner  gong.  Stephen  had 
a  book  from  the  ship 's  library  and  he  read  and  smoked  until 
the  expected  gong  sounded;  then  his  ears  twitched  just  a 
little  and  he  looked  up. 

Prompt  to  the  minute,  for  this  hour  had  been  agreed  upon 
as  their  trysting-time  when  they  separated  in  Paris  before 
taking  the  boat  train  down,  Georges  le  Febvre  appeared 
at  the  door  of  the  smoking  room.  Stephen  put  his  ciga- 
rette in  the  left  comer  of  his  mouth,  and  Le  Fay,  gazing 
wearily  around,  departed  for  the  deck.  Stephen  read 
several  pages  more  before  he  rose  for  his  ante-dinner  stroll. 
As  he  walked  the  starboard  side,  where  the  electric  lights 
and  the  wet  flapping  canvas  combined  to  remind  one  of 
candles  and  a  shroud,  his  path  crossed  that  of  Le  Fay, 
and  he  dropped  the  cards  into  the  other  man's  pocket. 

Again  they  strolled  back  and  forth;  other  people  were 


84  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

strolling,  too,  so  they  passed  the  second  time  without  either 
movement  or  comment;  the  third  time,  Le  Fay  inquired, 
although  his  mouth  hardly  seemed  to  move: 

"Strippers?" 

"Yes." 

"After  dinner?" 

"Yes." 

The  length  of  time  necessary  for  the  exit  of  four  bullets 
from  an  automatic  pistol  was  about  equal  to  the  duration  of 
this  conversation.  They  strolled  back  and  forth  several 
times  again,  then  both  repaired  to  the  dining  saloon  and  to 
different  tables. 


IV 


MR.    JANISSARY   BECOMES   THE   ALMONER   OF   THE    POOR 

George  le  Fay 's  French  father  would  have  referred  to  him 
as  an  artiste;  his  Irish  mother  as  a  "wicked  spalpeen."  As 
a  matter  of  fact  he  was  neither;  only  a  plain  business  man 
who  took  his  profession  seriously,  supported  a  wife  and  three 
children,  who  thought  he  was  a  cotton-broker,  in  respect- 
able, middle-class  luxury  on  Riverside  Drive,  saved  his 
money,  and  never  drank.  His  creed  was  that  no  thief  was 
a  clever  one  if  he  was  caught;  consequently  he  refused  all 
hazardous  ventures  and  trusted  no  one  who  was  not  equally 
implicated  with  him.  He  was  clever  and  he  was  reliable, 
but  he  believed  in  the  superiority  of  prudence  over  valour. 

As  he  sat  now,  in  the  corner  of  the  smoking  room,  playing 
solitaire  and  speaking  to  no  one,  he  simply  radiated  bour- 
geois virtues.     His  dinner  coat  was  of  good  material  but 


IN  MID-ATLANTIC  85 

cut  unfashionably,  and  he  was  guilty  of  that  sartorial  error, 
peculiar  to  the  middle  classes,  of  wearing  a  gray  evening  tie 
to  match  his  waistcoat;  another  solecism  was  the  wearing 
of  his  watch  chain  looped  up  on  the  middle  button  of  his 
waistcoat  and  dangling  the  carved  head  of  an  animal;  and, 
disdaining  pumps  or  oxfords,  he  wore  stout  shoes  of  vici  kid, 
poUshed  obnoxiously  bright. 

He  did  not  seem  anxious  for  companionship,  and,  when 
a  jolly  travelling  salesman,  with  a  similiar  head  to  his 
watch  chain,  suggested  a  little  poker,  Le  Fay  insisted  that 
the  stakes  be  very  low. 

"Oh,  sure;  ten-cent  limit;  just  to  pass  the  time  away. 
Come  on,  Clem!" 

"Clem"  was  the  mate  for  the  travelling  salesman  in 
everything  but  height  and  weight.  He  looked  up  hesitat- 
ingly at  the  sign  just  above  their  heads: 

"beware  op  professional  gamblers" 

Annoyed,  Clem's  companion,  in  dumb  show,  indicated 
the  trunkless  animal  that  dangled  from  Mr.  le  Fay 's  watch 
chain.  The  other  brightened  up,  hand-grips  were  ex- 
changed, and  a  spirit  of  confidence  pervaded  the  comer. 

The  travelling  salesman  was  right.  As  a  member  of  that 
particular  secret  order,  Mr.  le  Fay  would  have  willingly 
thrust  his  hand  into  a  blazing  fire  sooner  than  take  advan- 
tage of  any  confidence  it  engendered.  It  was  for  this  reason 
he  wore  it,  for  he  knew  that  otherwise  he  might  unwittingly 
trick  a  brother  member  and  he  wanted  to  make  no  mistakes. 

Meanwhile  Stephen  sat,  book  in  hand,  alongside  Hilary, 
who  was  similarly  equipped.    Despite  the  usual  opinion  that 


86  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

one  with  a  drug  habit  such  as  his  is  an  anaemic  person  with 
lack-lustre  eyes,  Hilary's  face  was  ruddy,  his  complexion 
contrasting  sharply  with  his  grizzled  moustache  and  hair, 
both  clipped  short,  and  giving  him  less  the  look  of  a  scholar 
than  of  a  retired  army  oflficer.  He  no  longer  seemed  tall, 
however,  for  his  girth  had  increased  with  years.  His  blue 
eyes,  slightly  glassy  and  with  pupils  dilated,  were  the  only 
evidences  of  his  indulgence.  His  peculiarity  in  dress  was 
to  wear  a  double  length  of  dress  tie  about  a  singularly 
high  collar. 

The  game  in  the  corner  continued  for  more  than  an  hour 
without  Janissary  putting  in  an  appearance  in  the  smoking 
room.  Stephen  fidgeted.  He  was  aware  of  the  fact  that 
he  was  at  his  best  in  evening  clothes  and  he  yearned  to 
peacock  himself  in  the  presence  of  Miss  Duress;  but  his 
single-mindedness  amounted  almost  to  doggedness,  and 
the  most  important  way  to  serve  her  was  to  remain  just 
where  he  was. 

With  Janissary's  entrance,  the  queer  qualms  that  had 
attacked  him  before  when  in  the  older  man 's  presence  again 
beset  Stephen.  Janissary  stood  for  a  moment,  holding 
back  the  storm-pushed  door  by  sheer  strength,  and  a  wave 
of  cold  air  caused  a  majority  of  those  in  the  smoking  room 
to  raise  their  eyes  in  deprecation.  Somehow,  Stephen  could 
not  rid  himself  of  the  idea  that  this  man  Janissary  was,  to  a 
certain  extent,  weakened  by  an  enormous  vanity  like  unto 
that  of  an  actor.  Expecting  what  was  technically  known  as 
an  "entrance"  on  the  stage  where  he  was  wont  to  figure,  he 
invcJuntarily  created  one  for  himself  on  those  stages  where 
he  was  unknown.     Any  Achillean  spot  in  Janissary 's  armour 


IN  MID-ATLANTIC  87 

of  invulnerability  was  a  welcome  discovery  to  Stephen 
Adams.  It  is  a  terrible  feeling  that  comes  to  one  who 
believes,  before  the  battle  is  on,  that  he  is  coping  with 
his  master. 

Stephen  had  figured  rightly  as  to  the  position  he  should 
occupy.  Janissary  came  directly  to  the  wood  fire  that 
blazed  in  the  great  Flemish  fireplace,  attracted  without  any 
volition  of  his  own,  as  are  all  men  who  come  from  the  out- 
side —  a  streak  of  the  primitive  as  ineradicable  as  the  desire 
for  food.  Though  the  cold  has  not  penetrated,  the  fire  is 
there  and  one  comes.  So  it  was  that  he  stood  within  a  foot 
of  Stephen  and  Hilary,  rubbing  his  gloved  hands,  and  star- 
ing down  at  that  which  holds  the  light  of  all  the  topazes 
and  rubies  in  the  world. 

"Well,  why  shouldn't  I  play  cards?"  Stephen  asked 
immediately  Janissary  stood  nearby,  although  apparently 
oblivious  of  his  presence.  "It's  my  money  to  do  as  I 
like  with,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes,  dear  boy,"  replied  Hilary,  taking  the  cue  naturally, 
his  tone  becoming  as  parental  as  Stephen's  was  boyish, 
"but  you've  got  a  lifetime  before  you  and  no  ability  for 
making  money.  You're  not  twenty-two  yet  and  you've 
spent  three  times  what  your  income  should  have  been  since 
you  came  into  your  money  this  year." 

"Oh,  bother!"  replied  Stephen,  "I've  got  to  have  my 
fling  and  I  'm  going  to  have  it.  Don 't  be  an  old  woman, 
uncle.  Come  on  —  get  into  the  game!  It's  only  a  little 
ten-cent  limit.  Such  a  fuss  over  nothing.  Why,  I  couldn  't 
lose  more  than  fifty  dollars  at  that  if  I  tried." 

Quackenbos  shook  his  head  gravely. 


88  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"You  never  stop  at  any  limit,  my  boy.  The  minute 
you  begin  either  to  win  or  lose  you  want  to  double  the  stakes. 
No,  please!"  he  protested,  holding  up  his  hand  as  Stephen 
would  have  argued.  "We've  gone  over  this  thing  a  hun- 
dred times  before.  If  you  insist  on  playing  I  can't  stop 
you,  of  course;  but  you  do  so  against  my  wishes  and  I 
refuse  to  abet  you." 

"Well,  I'm  going  to  play,"  said  Stephen  angrily.  "I'm 
tired  of  being  treated  like  a  child." 

Hilary  rose  also.    His  face  was  regretful. 

"Very  well,  my  boy.    Good  night." 

"You  aren't  going?  Stop  and  watch  the  game.  I 
promise  not  to  play  for  more  than  an  hour,  then  I'll  walk 
up  and  down  with  you.'* 

"No.  I'll  walk  now  and  then  turn  in.  Good  night,  my 
boy." 

"Oh,  go  to  the  devil,  then!" 

He  swung  around,  as  Hilary  left  him,  and  his  eyes  met 
Janissary's  squarely. 

"As  I  thought,"  the  older  man  sneered.  "As  I  said  this 
afternoon.  Some  man  piled  up  money  for  a  foolish  cub 
like  you  to  spend." 

"That's  better  than  being  an  old  woman,"  Stephen 
taunted,  "and  hiding  your  money  under  the  bed  each  night 
as  you  probably  do.  I'll  bet  you  never  took  a  chance  in 
your  life  —  got  the  first  dollar  you  made  probably.  You're 
like  my  uncle  —  send  your  bank  roll  to  the  cleaner's  every 
month.  Why  if  you  took  it  out  I  guess  a  nest  of  mice 
would  jump  out  of  it." 

"You  impudent  whipper-snapper!"  choked  the  older  man. 


IN  MID-ATLANTIC  89 

Even  to  articulate  the  three  words  was  an  effort  that  brought 
out  purple  veins  in  his  forehead. 

"Tell  me  the  equivalent  of  that  for  a  man  of  your  age 
and  I'll  reciprocate,"  said  Stephen  coolly.  "I've  as  much 
right  to  insult  you  as  you  have  to  insult  me.  Just  because 
you  older  men  don 't  care  to  risk  your  money  —  or  are  afraid 
to  do  it " 

"  Afraid,  you  cub !    Afraid  of  what?  " 

"Why, of  losing  it,  of  course?  Well,  that's  no  reason 
why  you  should  grudge  us  young  fellows  our  fun.  I  like 
to  risk  my  money;  like  to  take  a  chance.    While  you " 

"Why,"  said  Janissary  slowly,  "you  amuise  me,  boy.  So 
young,  so  uninformed.  I  have  risked  more  money 
than  you  could  count  if  you  began  now  and  spent  the  month 
counting.    Afraid  of  losing?    Me?    Afraid?" 

"Well;  no  offence  taken " 

"You  deserve  to  have  a  lesson  taught  you,"  said  the  older 
man,  "and,  as  I've  nothing  better  to  do,  I've  a  mind  to 
teach  it  to  you." 

"Well,  then,  teach  it,"  said  Stephen  recklessly.  "But 
remember  I'm  pretty  well  able  to  take  care  of  myself. 
I'm  going  to  play.     Good  night." 

"Not  so  fast.   I  '11  play  with  you.  Have  you  some  cards?" 

"There's  a  game  going  on  over  there.  We'll  join  them. 
I  beg  your  pardon.  I  didn't  mean  to  say  anything  insult- 
ing, but  you  started  it,  you  know." 

"Never  mind,"  said  the  other,  closing  his  lips  tightly. 
"No  man  has  ever  dared  to  speak  to  me  as  you've  done, 
boy !    I  don 't  forget  things  like  that ! " 

"Well, forget  it  for  the  time  if  you're  going  to  play," 


90  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

answered  Stephen  lightly  as  he  led  the  way  across  to  the 
corner  where  George  le  Fay  sat  with  '  Clem  '  and  his 
friend. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  gentlemen '* 

George  le  Fay  looked  up  inquiringly. 

"We'd  like  to  sit  in  the  game  if  we  may ** 

Le  Fay  arose  and  bowed. 

"The  more  the  merrier,"  he  said  with  a  heavy  attempt 
at  raillery.     "Won't  you  sit  down?" 

One  of  the  stewards  busied  himself  pushing  two  wicker 
chairs  forward.  The  travelling  salesman  and  Clem  eyed 
the  newcomer-s  suspiciously,  evidently  searching  for  more 
reassuring  watch  charms.  As  Janissary  took  off  his  frieze 
coat,  however,  surrendering  it  into  the  steward's  hands,  the 
sapphire  that  he  wore  in  his  black  four-in-hand  —  for  he 
had  not  found  it  necessary  to  don  evening  dress  —  re- 
assured Clem,  who  was  a  buyer  for  the  leading  jewellery 
house  in  Muncie,  Ind.,  and  Stephen's  pearls  and  waist- 
coat buttons  crushed  any  lingering  suspicion,  for  Clem  was 
one  of  those  simple-minded  men  who  deem  a  dangerous 
woman  one  with  a  painted  face,  and  picture  a  suspicious 
man  as  either  masked  or  wearing  a  policeman 's  moustache, 
an  assortment  of  glittering  solitaire  diamonds,  and  having 
an  eye  that  forever  seeks  the  ground. 

"Ten-cent  limit,  you  know,"  warned  Le  Fay,  as  Janissary 
after  glancing  at  the  hand  dealt  him,  suggested  opening 
"the  pot"  at  something  like  fifty  times  that  sum. 

"Oh,  absurd!"  said  Janissary  rudely  and  threw  down  his 
hand.  Clem,  his  suspicions  returning,  took  out  his  watch 
and  fingered  it  nervously. 


IN  MID-ATLANTIC  01 

"We'll  have  to  be  going,  I  guess,  Ed,"  he  suggested  to 
the  travelling  salesman,  his  eye  conveying  a  warning.  Ed 
promptly  threw  down  his  cards  and  winked  hard  in  Le  Fay 's 
direction,  for  he,  too,  had  brotherly  feelings  toward  one  who 
wore  a  watch  charm  similiar  to  his  own. 

"Don't  break  up  the  game,"  urged  Le  Fay,  as  both  the 
men  got  to  their  feet. 

"Certainly  not,"  said  Janissary.  "I  didn't  mean  to 
break  in  on  you.  But  such  child's  play  as  the  figure  you 
name,  it's  absurd.     I  wouldn't  waste  my  time!" 

The  travelling  gentlemen  quailed  under  his  eye,  and,  mur- 
muring their  excuses  again,  turned  in  their  chips  to  Le  Fay, 
who  paid  them  off,  finding  himself  something  out  of  pocket 
by  the  transaction. 

"Sorry  you're  going,"  he  said  politely,  and,  as  they  turned 
away,  he  smiled  a  little  at  Janissary. 

"  Well,  I  've  got  to  get  twenty-five  dollars  out  of  somebody, 
and  it  might  as  well  be  you  gentlemen." 

He  handed  the  cards  to  Janissary,  who,  scowling  at 
Stephen,  cut  and  shuflBed  with  painstaking  accuracy,  and 
dealt  a  hand  around  the  table.  Le  Fay  placed  ten  dollars' 
worth  of  chips  at  his  elbow. 

"Whites  five,  reds  ten,  blues  twenty-five,"  he  said,  and 
pushed  another  pile  across  to  Stephen. 

"Dollars?"  sneered  Janissary  at  Stephen. 

"As  you  like,"  the  younger  man  gave  him  back  defiantly. 

"Hold  on  a  minute,  gentlemen,"  said  Le  Fay.  "You 
two  may  be  millionaires.  I'm  not.  I  can't  play  in  any 
such  game  as  that." 

"  If  you  want  to  play  ten-ce;pt  limit '* 


92  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"I*m  willing  to  go  higher  than  that,"  answered  Le  Fay, 
apparently  a  little  ashamed.  "But  not  as  high  as  you 
suggest.  Make  the  whites  a  dollar,  the  reds  five,  and  the 
blues  twenty-five  if  you  like.    That  suit  you?" 

He  turned  to  Stephen. 

"Anything  goes  with  me,"  said  the  young  man. 

"And  you,  sir?" 

"It'll  have  to  do  if  you  won't  play  higher,"  growled 
Janissary.  "Any  one  open?  No?  Your  ante,  sir.  A 
dollar.    All  pass?    Sweeten  it,  a  dollar  each." 

He  handed  the  cards  to  Le  Fay,  who  cut  and  shuffled 
with  deliberation.  He  dealt  the  aces  to  Janissary  and  kept 
the  queens  in  the  pack. 

"Twenty-five  dollars;  cost  you  twenty-five  to  come 
in.    What?    No  one  playing?" 

Stephen  and  George  shook  their  heads  and  Janissary 
gathered  in  what  was  in  the  pot. 

The  game  wore  on,  an  affair  almost  as  mechanical  to 
Stephen  and  Le  Fay  as  an  engineer's  job  becomes  to  a  sea- 
soned veteran.  As  Le  Fay  was  the  owner  of  the  cards,  it 
was  part  of  the  system  that  he  should  lose  heavily  to 
Stephen.  They  kept  Janissary  neither  winning  nor  losing, 
sometimes  dealing  him  a  hand  which  enabled  him  to  speak 
of  preposterous  raising,  and  then  dropping  out  and  allowing 
him  to  take  the  antes  and  "sweetenings"  as  before. 

Half  an  hour  later,  when  the  pack  had  circled  the  table 
twice  without  an  opener,  George  le  Fay  winked  ever  so 
slightly  at  Stephen  Adams. 

It  was  a  pleasure  for  a  professional  to  watch  George  work. 
He  was  what  is  colloquially  termed  a  "drop  dealer,"  holding 


IN  MID-ATLANTIC  93 

the  pack  high  in  air  and  allowing  the  cards  to  flutter  from  the 
bottom  as  his  wrist  circled  the  table,  and,  when  he  desired 
to  deal  from  the  top,  disguising  his  movement  with  a  down 
flop  which  had  wrung  admiration  from  those  who  had 
dealt  a  living  to  themselves  from  the  pack  before  George's 
eyes  were  opened  to  the  world. 

Stephen  received  the  aces.  Janissary  the  queens.  Creorge, 
with  a  disgusted  look  at  his  hand,  tossed  his  paste  boards 
into  the  discard. 

"It  will  cost  you,  boy,"  said  Janissary,  glancing  at  Stephen 
malevolently,  "just  one  hundred  dollars  to  draw  cards." 

"I  see  that  hundred  and  raise  it  a  couple  hundred  more," 
said  Stephen  airily,  pushing  forward  all  the  chips  he  had  and 
requesting  more  from  Le  Fay,  the  banker.  Janissary, 
silently,  made  the  same  request.  Le  Fay  inquired  the 
amounts  desired. 

"A  thousand  will  do." 

"And  you,  sir?" 

"Same  here,"  said  Stephen. 

"Oh,  you  intend  to  bluff  it  out,  eh?"  asked  Janissary. 

"Call  it  what  you  like.  At  all  events  you  can't  bluff 
me,    "What  are  you  doing?  " 

"Seeing  that  two  hundred  of  yours  and  going  you  five 
hundred  better,"  replied  Janissary,  as  he  received  the  new 
pile  from  Le  Fay.     "Anything  to  say?" 

"Going  you  five  hundred  better  still,  that's  all." 

Janissary  looked  at  him  a  little  uneasily. 

"Five  hundred  to  call,"  he  said.  "Dammit,"  he  added 
vexedly  as  Stephen  turned  up  his  cards,  "I  might  have 
known  you  wouldn't  have  the  nerve  to  bluff." 


94  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"I'll  see  your  openers,  please,"  remarked  Stephen  pleas- 
antly, as  he  raked  in  his  winnings. 

"Four  queens,"  glowered  Janissary,  showing  them,  and 
then,  gathering  up  the  cards,  for  it  was  his  turn  to  deal,  he 
tossed  them  into  a  cuspidor  that  stood  nearby. 

"Steward,"  he  called,  "bring  a  new  deck." 

"Superstitious?"  smiled  Stephen,  who  was  counting  his 
chips  and  finding  himself  wealthier  by  nearly  twelve,  hun- 
dred of  Janissary 's  dollars.  But  the  smile  was  a  forced  one, 
for,  though  the  system  of  signals  between  George  and  him- 
self was  perfect  enough  to  utterly  defeat  Janissary  in  the 
long  run,  it  was  not  nearly  so  easy  as  working  with  the 
** strippers"  which  now  lay  at  their  feet. 

Janissary  broke  the  seal  on  the  new  deck,  signed  the 
steward's  check  with  his  room  number,  and  threw  the 
empty  packet  on  the  floor.  He  dealt  carefully,  wetting  his 
lips,  and  occasionally  biting  them. 

In  the  hands  that  followed,  luck  seemed  to  be  with  him, 
for  he  relieved  Stephen  of  a  few  hundred  of  his  winnings. 
It  was  impossible  to  "stack"  with  unidentified  backs  and 
neither  of  the  two  held  particularly  good  hands.  On  the 
sixth  hand,  however,  while  Janissary  gazed  at  his  cards, 
Stephen  blew  two  rings  of  smoke  out  of  the  right  side  of  his 
mouth.  To  his  surprise  Le  Fay  did  likewise,  a  signal  that 
each  held  a  pair  of  kings.  George,  who  was  the  dealer, 
immediately  declared  himself  out  of  the  game,  and,  when 
dealing  the  cards  to  both  Janissary  and  Stephen,  managed 
to  palm  his  own  pair  of  kings  into  the  pack  and  let  Stephen 
have  them.  He  laid  down  his  hand,  and,  leaning  back,  lit 
a  cigar. 


IN  MID-ATLANTIC  95 

"Out  of  it?"  asked  Janissary. 

Le  Fay  nodded  and  reached  across  the  table  for  a  second 
match,  glancing  at  Janissary's  hand  as  he  did  so,  but  so 
quickly  that  the  millionaire  had  no  notion  that  he  had  seen 
it.  Le  Fay  leaned  back  a  second  time  and  stroked  his  mous- 
tache three  times,  the  "office"  that  Janissary  was  happy 
in  the  possession  of  a  trilogy  of  tens. 

"Can  you  open?"   asked  Stephen. 

"For  five  hundred,"  answered  Janissary  viciously. 

"See  and  double  it,"  responded  Stephen. 

"See  you  and  treble  it!" 

"See  that  and  raise  you  five  hundred!" 

"Boy,  are  you  a  fool?" 

"What's  the  matter?    Lost  your  nerve?" 

Janissary's  teeth  came  down  on  his  lower  lip.  He  did 
not  ask  Le  Fay  to  give  him  checks  now,  for  there  were 
hardly  enough  checks  in  the  box,  at  the  value  placed  upon 
them,  to  cover  the  sums  wagered. 

"Are  you  keeping  track?"  he  inquired. 

Le  Fay  showed  him  pencil  and  paper. 

"Very  well,  then,"  said  Janissary  grimly.  "Just  put 
this  down." 

He  drew  a  pocket-book  from  his  inside  coat  pocket  and 
a  fountain  pen  from  his  waistcoat.  With  some  trouble  he 
produced  a  check  from  a  Paris  banking  firm  for  twenty 
thousand  francs,  stuck  it  under  Stephen's  nose,  and  laid 
it  on  the  table. 

"That  goes  in  addition,"  he  said.  "Now,  boy;  can  you 
match  it?" 

"If  you  give  me  time  to  write  one!" 


96  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"How  do  I  know  if  it's  worth  anything?" 

"How  do  I  know  yours  is?  I'll  see  and  call  you  and 
write  my  check  now." 

"Got  that  down?"  Janissary  asked  Le  Fay.  "He  calls 
me  for  an  equal  amount.  Well,  that's  what  you've  got 
to  beat!" 

Stephen  laughed  as  he  saw  the  tens. 

"It's  easy  enough  to  beat  that,"  he  replied.  "I  thought 
you  had  a  full  house  or  a  fours  at  least.  How  do  you  like 
my  little  pets?" 

Both  men  became  aware  of  evil  creases  about  Janissary's 
forehead  and  ugly  lines  about  the  mouth.  He  picked  up 
the  cards,  and,  shuffling  them  slowly,  put  on  his  gold- 
framed  eye-glasses  and  held  each  card  up  to  the  light. 

"See  that  sign  above  you?"  mocked  Stephen.  "It's 
an  easy  way  to  get  out  of  paying.  A  favourite  trick  with 
welchers.  I  expected  as  much  from  you  when  I  sat  down 
to  play." 

George  le  Fay  suddenly  struck  the  table  with  his  fist. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Mean?  Look  at  the  way  he's  examining  the  cards? 
Can't  you  guess  what  he's  thinking?" 

"You  mean " 

"Looks  like  it!" 

"Well,"  said  George  le  Fay  with  dignity,  "perhaps  I 
can  assist  the  gentleman.  Sir,"  he  addressed  Janissary, 
"permit  me;  a  jeweller's  glass." 

He  gave  him  a  rubber-mounted  magnifying  lens  which 
he  took  from  his  trousers  pocket. 

"I  use  that  when  I  buy  gems.    I'm  just  as  anxious  as 


IN  MID-ATLANTIC  97 

you  are  to  know  about  these  cards.  I'm  afraid  I've  won 
something  and  I  'd  rather  you  'd  be  perfectly  sure  before  you 
pay  me.** 

"I  wasn't  thinking  of  you,"  snapped  Janissary, 

"Then,  for  my  sake,"  implored  Stephen,  "take  his  mag- 
nifying glass  and  make  sure!  That's  the  worst  of  playing 
with  strangers,"  he  added  to  Le  Fay.  "  If  you  lose  you  have 
to  pay;  and  if  you  win  they  think  you're  cheating.  Fine 
sportsmanship ! " 

Janissary  banged  the  pack  on  the  table. 

"Here,"  he  said,  "I've  had  enough.     Cash  in!" 

"Of  course,  if  you  can't  afford  it "  Stephen  began 

in  a  milder  tone. 

"When  you're  as  well  able  to  afford  it  as  I  am,  my  boy," 
said  Janissary,  roused  to  a  pitch  of  superlative  exaspera- 
tion, "you  may  gamble  in  millions,  not  thousands." 

Stephen  picked  up   the  check,  reading  the  name  aloud: 

"Oh,  Janissary?  Stephen  Janissary,  eh?  Well,  you 
can  afford  it.  Endorse  it  to  Ste  —  to  S.  St.  Geger  Adams, 
if  you  please.  Thank  you.  Saint  Geger,  yes.  And  now, 
if  you'll  lend  me  your  pen,  I'll  show  you  I  have  no  inten- 
tion of  putting  this  money  to  my  own  uses.     There ! " 

He  wrote  in  the  name  of  Decima  Duress  and  held  the  bit 
of  paper  under  the  older  man's  gold-rimmed  eye-glasses. 
The  taunt  in  Stephen's  tone  brought  a  burning  red  to 
Janissary's  cheeks. 

"Your  money's  only  good  enough  to  gamble  with, 
eh?  But  mine's  tainted  I  suppose;  going  to  charity;  is 
that  it?" 

With  his  words,  the  last  bit  of  self-control  left  Stephen. 


98  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

He  had  acted  before,  mocked  this  man  for  a  purpose;  but 
now  it  seemed  that  the  fellow  was  utterly  without  good; 
that  even  the  generous  impulse  of  a  young  spendthrift  was 
worth  only  a  careless  sneer.  Rage,  that  was  half  hate  for 
Janissary's  evil  and  half  because  his  strength  had  chilled 
Stephen's  courage,  now  possessed  the  younger  man, 
and  he  leaned  across  the  green-topped  table,  his  clinched 
fist  striking  it  time  and  time  again. 

"Exactly,  Mr.  Janissary,  exactly.  Your  money  is  tainted 
—  the  blood-money  of  labourers  who  sweat  twelve  hours 
a  day  for  you  —  the  stolen  money  of  little  shopkeepers 
whom  you  've  sent  to  the  morgue  —  the  virtue-wrung 
money  of  their  daughters  whom  you've  driven  to  the 
streets  and  the  brothels  —  the  burial  money  of  the  weak, 
the  fools,  and  the  damned.  Tainted  money,  you  thief  — 
yes!  Money  with  the  curse  of  death  on  every  dollar!  And 
it  is  going  to  charity,  Mr.  Janissary;  yes,  by  God,  it  is  I" 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN 
I 

AT   POLICE    HEADQUARTERS 

CANBY  KERNAHAN  did  not  covet  the  assignment 
that  had  the  solving  of  the  Vaughan  jewel  robbery 
for  its  desideratum.  He  had  served  his  apprenticeship 
as  police  reporter  in  another  town  and,  when  relieved  of 
the  obnoxious  task,  had  remarked  that  as  a  man  must  be 
either  flint-hearted  or  consistently  miserable  to  adequately 
"cover"  this  work  and,  as  he  envied  neither  state,  he  would 
never  under  any  circumstances  take  such  a  position  again. 
Since  his  arrival  in  New  York  —  to  which  city  he  had  been 
lured  by  an  editor  who  admired  his  signed,  provincial  work 
—  he  had  sat  in  his  own  private  room,  and  twisted  semi-facts 
into  those  pleasant  fictions,  agreeably  illustrated,  which  are 
known  as  Sunday  stories. 

But,  when  a  woman  places  her  Jewels  on  her  dressing 
table,  turns  to  open  her  safe,  and  then  reaches  for  her 
jewel  box,  only  to  find  it  gone;  when  the  thinnest  kind  of 
a  rope  is  found  attached  to  a  cornice  of  a  house  next  door 
and  within  that  rope  is  concealed  a  piano  wire  that  would 
bear  the  weight  of  a  baby  elephant  yet  could  be  rolled  up 
and  put  into  a  man's  pocket  without  spoiling  the  shape 

99 


100  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

of  his  coat;  when  the  amount  of  the  robbery  aggregates 
close  upon  a  quarter  million  of  dollars,  and  the  lady's 
husband  has  sworn  to  apprehend  the  thief  if  it  takes  all 
the  profits  of  the  Flour  Trust,  of  which  he  is  the  head,  for 
a  year  —  yes,  even  if  he  must  again  decrease  the  size  of 
the  poor  man's  loaf  of  bread  to  make  it  up  —  then  indeed 
the  matter  becomes  worthy  of  a  higher-salaried  man  than  the 
ordinary  police-reporter,  and  Canby  Kemahan,  weaving 
romances  in  his  mind,  was  detailed  to  the  work. 

So,  for  the  first  time,  he  made  his  way  through  foul,  ill- 
smelling  Mott  Street,  past  those  rabbit  warrens  called 
tenements;  and  came  to  the  building  —  ugly  as  crime 
itself  —  where  kept  vigil  those  whom  the  State  had 
entrusted  with  the  power  to  protect  its  citizens  against 
malefactors  who  live  to  steal  and  to  bear  false  witness,  to 
forge,  to  blackmail,  and  to  kill;  and  who,  far  from  fulfilling 
their  trust,  kept  that  same  vigil  with  but  one  eye  open  and 
that  one  upon  "the  main  chance.** 

The  building  gave  that  impression,  too;  it  had  none 
of  the  unbribable  majesty  of  power,  the  grim  unalterable- 
ness  of  that  which  is  the  law;  rather  did  it  impress  Kemahan 
as  the  abode  of  little  men  with  ugly  souls  who  threatened  with 
weapons  that  bigger  men  had  purchased  and  put  in  their 
hands;  and  who  were  forever  wary,  with  the  fear  upon  them 
that  these  bigger  men  might  turn  from  their  bigger  busi- 
nesses, see,  become  enraged,  and,  with  the  placid  anger  of 
the  mighty,  tear  them  from  their  prey  as  the  eagle  snatches 
the  fox  whose  sharp  teeth  are  already  upon  the  rabbit. 

Kemahan  entered  the  building  by  the  Mott  Street  door, 
which  was  the  rear  one,  and  passed  into  an   atmosphere 


THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN  101 

where  domination  was  visualized  in  brass;  brass  buttons 
everywhere  except  where  there  were  brass  railings.  Ker- 
nahan's  addressal  of  a  tobacco  masticator  was  inept,  in 
that  his  shy  politeness  was  construed  as  timidity  into  which 
is  read  in  the  mind  of  every  constabulario  fear  of  punishment 
resulting  from  guilt. 

"Th*  Chief's  busy,  now.  What  cher  wanta  see  him 
kbout?" 

"I  am  Mr.  Kemahan.  I'm  in  charge  of  the  Vaughan 
robbery  story  for  my  paper." 

The  mention  of  the  daily  that  he  represented  —  one 
opposed  to  ordinary  police  methods  and  quick  to  uphold 
its  staff  in  any  disagreement —  had  its  effect  upon  the  man 
of  the  frequent  expectorations  and  was  productive  of 
a  haste  which  had  its  duplicate  in  the  attitude  of  the 
official  into  whose  presence  Kemahan  was  speedily 
ushered. 

"I  hear  youVe  got  the  man  who  robbed  Mrs.  Vaughan?" 
I  said  the  reporter,  after  refusing  the  usual  thick  cigar  and 
exchanging  the  banal  courtesies  consequent  upon  a  man's 
introduction  of  himself. 

The  Chief  of  Detectives  — a  thin,  nervous  fellow  with 
an  eye  that  strove  to  be  inscrutable  and  which  only 
succeeded  in  being  theatrical  —  nodded  in  a  self-satisfied 
manner. 

"Sure,"  he  replied.  "We've  got  him.  Now  maybe 
your  paper  will  stop  hollering  about  the  inability  of  the 
police  to  get  crooks.  This  is  the  biggest  deal  pulled  off 
this  year  and  we  nabbed  the  fellow  two  days  after  he  turned 
the  trick.     Pretty  good,  I  call  it." 


102  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"I  agree  with  you.  Chief.  May  I  ask:  Have  you  also 
got    the " 

"The  stuff?    Naw,  not  yet.    But  we'll  get  it!" 

"May  I  ask  how  do  you  know  you've  got  the  right 
man?'* 

"How  do  I  know?  Now  listen,  Mr.  Kernahan,  you're  new 
to  this  game;  don't  go  gettin'  the  idea  that  we're  a  lot 
of  boneheads.  It's  easy  enough  to  sit  in  a  newspaper  office 
and  tell  us  how  to  do  our  work;  but  it's  our  work 
and  we  know  more  about  it  than  you  do.  Your  paper 
now '* 

"But  —  so  many  robberies  this  year.  Chief.  Big  ones, 
too,  and  not  a  single  conviction." 

"Conviction?"  snarled  the  policeman.  "There'd  a  bin 
plenty  of  convictions  if  those  silk-stocking  guys  from 
up  town  'ud  kept  their  hands  off.  We  made  the  pinches, 
aU  right." 

"Yes,  but  the  alibis;  the  witnesses " 

"Aaw,  hell!  I  can  alibi  you  out  of  anything  for  ten 
dollars.     Not  worth  a  busted  night-stick " 

"Or  a  policeman's  oath,"  smiled  Kernahan,  looking 
him  squarely  in  the  eye.  "May  I  see  the  prisoner. 
Chief?" 

He  picked  up  his  soft  hat  and  stood  awaiting  per- 
mission. The  policeman's  tone  took  on  a  pleading 
note. 

"Aaw  hell!    What  for?'* 

"I'd  like  to  hear  his  story.** 

"You  don't  think  he'll  tell  you  the  truth?" 

"It  isn't  that,  but  we  can't  be  one-sided." 


THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN  lOS 

**I*d  rather  you  didn't  see  him  to-day,  Mr.  Ker- 
nahan." 

"I'm  sorry.  Chief,  but  that  won't  go  with  my  city 
editor.  He  gave  me  orders  to  see  Mike.  You  understand 
my  position?" 

The  inscrutableness  which  the  Chief  of  Detectives 
aflPected  —  an  imitation  of  which  can  be  assumed  by  any 
one  who  will  bring  together  his  eyebrows  and  look  up 
from  under  them  —  now  disappeared  entirely.  He  broke 
the  silence  of  a  moment  of  thought  by  striking  a  bell  and 
directing  the  policeman  who  answered  it  to  fetch  Lieu- 
tenant Kneebreeks.  Evidently  the  lieutenant  was  within 
easy  hailing  distance,  for  he  answered  the  summons  almost 
immediately,  his  heavy  frame,  broad  shoulders,  and  Indian- 
like face  seemingly  cast-iron  in  its  immobility  —  a  menace 
to  those  in  the  shadows  of  life. 

"This  gentleman,"  said  the  Chief,  indicating  Kemahan, 

"is    connected    with "     He    mentioned     Kernahan's 

paper.     "He  wants  to  see  your  prisoner." 

"Which  one?"  asked  Bjieebreeks,  who  found  it  politic 
to  be  pleasant  to  newspaper  men,  and,  if  possible,  to  indulge 
in  some  pleasantry  of  which  this  was  a  sample.  "Have 
to  be  specific.  Mister,  when  you  spring  a  thing  like  that  on 
me." 

"Sheeny  Mike." 

"Oh!" 

There  was  an  exchange  of  meaning  glances  between  Chief 
and  lieutenant  which  they  were  fatuous  enough  to  believe 
escaped  Kernahan  entirely. 

"Gh,  sure,"    said    Kneebreeks,    slowly. 


104  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"Up  here,  of  course,"  added  the  Chief. 

"Oh,  sure." 

He  turned  to  go.     Kernahan  arose. 

"Where  are  you  going.?"  asked  the  Chief,  also 
rising. 

"Why,  down  to  the   cell  with  Lieutenant  Kneebreeks," 

"I'm  going  to  bring  him  up  here,  young  fellow,"  explained 
Kneebreeks,  controlling  his  temper  with  some  difficulty. 
"Although  I  can't  see  why  you  want  to  see  him.  He's 
confessed;  wrote  it  all  down  how  he  done  it.  The  Chief's  got 
it;  all  written  out  it  is." 

"So  we  heard,"  said  Kernahan.  "That's  why  I  want 
to  see  him.     No  use  bringing  him  up  here." 

"Please  sit  down,  Mr.  Kernahan,  and  let  Lieutenant 
Kneebreeks  go.     Our  time  is  limited!" 

"Anybody  'ud  think,"  he  added,  as  Kernahan  reseated 
himself  reluctantly  and  the  door  slammed  behind  the  lieu- 
tenant, "anybody  'ud  think  that  you  imagine  Kneebreeks  is 
going  to  threaten  him  or  something.  That's  just  the 
wrong  idea  you  fellows  get  about  us.  Why  Kneebreeks  is 
as  tender-hearted  as  a  baby.  You  don't  know  Bjiee- 
breeks." 

"No,  I  haven't  that  pleasure,"  Kernahan  admitted. 

"Here's  *  Sheeny  Mike's  confession  if  you  want  to  read 
it." 

He  handed  Kernahan  a  sheet  of  fool's-cap  covered  with 
typewriting  and  protected  from  dirt  by  a  blue  backing 
fastened  to  it  with  a  brass  tack. 

"Why,"  said  Kernahan,  gazing  in  surprise,  "what's 
this?" 


THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN  105 

He  pointed  to  the  bottom  of  the  sheet. 

"'Sheeny  Mike  —  his  mark,'"  translated  the  captain. 
"Can't  write  you  know." 

"Can't  write!  But,  Chief,  surely  you  don't  believe 
that  a  man  who  can't  write  was  capable  of  framing  up 
such  a  gorgeous  robbery?  Why,  first  they  had  to  'sound' 
the  house  and  find  that  every  window  and  every  door  — 
except  those  opening  on  the  air-shaft  —  was  provided  with 
a  burglar-alarm.  They  had  to  know  also  that  Mrs. 
Vaughan's  safe  was  provided  with  an  electric  buzzer  that 
went  off  the  moment  any  one  not  provided  with  the  proper 
combination  attempted  to  touch  it. 

"Why,  you've  already  caught  four  *pete-men'  who 
attempted  to  drill  the  safe,  caught  'em  redhanded  —  the 
best  'petes'  in  the  country.  This  thief  must  have 
studied  the  thing  out  like  a  problem  in  chess:  had  to 
know  the  construction  not  only  of  Mrs.  Vaughan's  house 
but  of  the  two  houses  on  either  side  of  it;  he  had  to  get 
on  the  roof  of  the  Croy smith's  house,  probably,  and  watch 
Mrs.  Vaughan  retiring  for  several  nights,  before  he  found 
what  she  did  with  her  jewels,  and  then,  best  of  all,  had 
to  invent  this  piano-wire  rope  to  hold  him — an  ordinary 
rope  would  have  to  be  about  as  thick  as  a  cable  to  do  the 
same  job.  And  then  you  tell  me  that  this  thing  was 
accomplished  by  a  man  who  can't  even  write  his  own 
name?" 

"He  did  the  'tooling,'"  replied  the  Chief,  turning  sullen. 
"Of  course  the  trick  was  turned  by  a  mob —  we  know 
that  as  well  as  you  do." 

Kernahan  read  the  confession  aloud: 


106  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"I,  Michael  Kornatowski,  alias  'Sheeny  Mike,*  having 
been  duly  sworn,  do  declare  of  my  own  free  will  and  with- 
out coercion  of  any  kind,  that  I  am  guilty  of  the  crime  of 
feloniously  entering  the  house  of  Henry  K.  Vaughan  at 
0376  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York  City,  on  the  night  of  Decem- 
ber 15,  19 — ,  and  removing  therefrom  gems  and  other 
personal  adornments  valued  at  $237,500.  So  help  me 
God." 

"As  clear  as  mud,"  commented  Kemahan,  handing  it 
back.  "It  gives  the  public  many  interesting  little  details 
it  would  like  to  know,  as,  for  instance,  how  he  managed 
to  'feloniously  enter'  that  house,  how  he  'removed  there- 
from* the  amoimt  he  speaks  of.  Not  very  lucid. 
Chief.'* 

It  was  spared  the'  Chief  any  tax  upon  his  mentality  to 
answer  Kemahan's  objections,  for,  the  door  opening  at  that 
moment,  a  cowering  figure  was  pushed  in,  the  pusher  follow- 
ing in  the  person  of  Lieutenant  KJieebreeks. 

Kernahan  took  a  careful  look  at  the  prisoner  —  a  poor 
weak  creature  with  the  mark  of  the  tenements  upon  him  — 
white,  pinched  face,  skinny  hands,  hunted,  harassed. 
Obsequiousness  was  in  the  very  shape  of  his  back,  ser- 
vility in  the  movement  of  his  nail-less  fingers,  and  sheer 
horror  in  his  every  gesture. 

"Now,  Mike,  speak  up!"  said  Kneebreeks,  in  a  tone 
peculiarly  low  but  holding  a  malefic  quality.  "This  gentle- 
man here  is  a  newspaper  guy.  He  wants  to  know  who  made 
that  there  touch  up  to  Vaughan's." 

If  fright  were  to  be  reckoned  a  concomitant  of  peccancy 
then  indeed  was  "Sheeny  Mike"  blood-guilty. 


THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN  107 

"Come  on.  You  better  tell  the  truth  now.  Who  done 
it?" 

Kneebreeks  caught  the  bony  shoulder  nearest  him  in  a 
predaceous  grip. 

"Who  done  it?     Come  on,  now!" 

"I  —  I  done  it,"  whimpered  the  man.  "I  ain't  said  I 
didn't,  have  I?     I  done  it.     Sure  I  done  it!" 

Kneebreeks  snatched  up  his  confession  and  thrust  it  into 
the  prisoner's   hand. 

*•  That's  yours,  ain't  it?  Come  on,  now;  tell  the 
gentleman!" 

Without  even  glancing  at  the  paper,  the  man  nodded 
vehemently. 

"Come  on;  speak  up.    It's  yours,  ain't  it?" 

"Yes,  sir;  yes,  Mr.  Kneebreeks,  it's  mine!" 

"Lieutenant  Kneebreeks,  you " 

"Sheeny  Mike's*'  eyes  roUed  in  terror. 

"'Sense  me,  Lootenant;  Lootenant  was  what  I  meant." 

"Be  more  careful.  You  turned  that  trick  and  you 
signed  this  paper;  that's  what  you  want  this  gentleman 
to  know,  ain't  it?" 

"Yes;  yes,  sir!'* 

Kneebreeks  viewed  Kemahan  triumphantly.  The  re- 
porter's eyes  wandered  to  those  of  the  Chief,  who  had 
resumed  his  inscrutable  gaze.  Kemahan  shrugged  his 
shoulders. 

"That's  all  you  wanted  to  know,  Mr.  Kemahan?  Well, 
then,  Kneebreeks,  I  guess " 

The  policeman  on  duty  outside  the  door  opened  it. 
The  Chief  frowned  at  him. 


108  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"I  can't  help  it,  sir.     It's  that  Mr.  Adams  again." 

It  now  appeared  as  though  the  Chief  had  never  had  any 
inscrutableness.  He  took  the  deep  breath  of  a  helpless 
child.     Kneebreeks's  face  purpled. 

"He  can't  come  in  —  not  now,"  said  the  Chief  faintly. 

"I'm  sorry,  sir.  He's  just  behind  me.  Oh  —  certainly; 
yes,   sir." 

The  latter  portion  of  his  speech  was  due  to  the  fact  that 
he  was  suddenly  pushed  aside  and  a  young  man  of  generous 
proportions  —  withal  of  a  slendemess  sufficient  to  present 
a  good  appearance  in  a  smartly  cut  morning-coat  —  entered 
the  room  and  saluted  the  Chief  with  a  movement  of  his 
malacca  stick. 

"That'll  be  all  right,"  he  assured  the  guardian  of  the 
door,  who,  staring  helplessly,  looked  to  the  Chief  for  his 
orders.     He  received  an  angry  nod  and  the  door  closed. 

Stephen  Adams,  while  waiting  for  some  one  to  speak, 
leaned  over  and  breathed  the  perfume  of  the  bud-rose 
which  he  wore  in  the  lapel  of  his  coat.  As  no  one  seemed 
desirous  of  breaking  the  silence,  he  took  that  upon  himself 
also. 

"I  love  flowers," he  said.  "When  I  was  little,  I  seemed  to 
remember  flowers  growing  all  around  me;  although  my 
uncle  says  that  must  be  my  imagination.  But  down  in 
this  quarter  I  find  life  simply  unsupportable  without 
them.  Ever  hear  the  story  of  the  French  noblewoman 
who  carried  a  rose  with  her  while  they  were  driving  her 
to  the  guillotine  so  she  could  keep  off  the  smell  of  the 
sweating  mob  who  were  crying  for  her  blood?  I'm  like 
that  too." 


THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN  109 

**Any  time  we've  nothing  better  to  do,  we'll  be  glad  to 
hear  you  lecture  on  botany,  Mr.  Adams,"  said  the  Chief, 
with  heavy  irony.     "But,  just  now " 

"Oh,  but  I  didn't  come  down  here  to  lecture  about 
flowers  —  oh,  dear,  no!  I've  got  something  of  vastly 
more  importance  —  (confound  those  English  expressions : 
I  pick  them  up  so  easily)  of  much  more  importance,  I  should 
have  said.  You  know,  you  people  are  so  infernally  careless 
about  arresting  other  people.  I  have  to  be  on  hand  all 
the  time  to  see  you  don't  make  any  mistakes.  And  our 
dear  little  friends,  the  criminals,  they  are  so  vastly 
obliging  —  good-natured  little  things  —  they  want  to  help 
you  out  of  your  troubles  so  much  that  they'll  even  go  to 
jail  to  please  you.  I've  come  to  see  *  Sheeny  Mike.* 
Where  is  he?" 

A  silence  almost  visible  in  its  concentration  fell  upon  the 
room.  The  prisoner,  crouched  against  a  chair,  did  not 
even  raise  his  eyes,  knowing  that  if  he  did  so  he  would  but 
meet  the  baleful  gaze  of  Kneebreeks.  So  oppressive  was 
the  feeling  engendered  by  the  basilisk  thought  centralization 
of  the  lieutenant  and  his  superior  that  Kemahan  found 
some  difficulty  in  voicing  the  simple  statement: 

"There  he  is." 

"Why,  thank  you,  sir,"  said  Stephen  in  genial  surprise, 
and  searched  him  with  his  eyes,  discovering  the  inevitable 
folded  sheets  of  copy  paper  thrust  into  a  side  pocket.  "Oh, 
a  newspaper  man.  .  .  .  My  name  is  Adams — Stephen 
Adams " 

"Stephen  Adams?" 

Kemahan's  eyes  lighted  with  genuine  pleasure. 


no  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"  Well,  I'm  sincerely  glad  to  meet  you  —  really  sincerely. 
I've  written  a  lot  about  you,  Mr.  Adams,  but  never  had 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  before." 

**0h,"  deprecated  Stephen,  blushing  a  little,  "you 
fellows  are  too  kind  to  me.  I'm  afraid  I'm  a  little  spec- 
tacular; there  are  lots  of  people  doing  more  than  I  am." 

"On  this  case?    Vaughan  robbery?" 

"Yes.    Are  you  interested?" 

"In  a  way.  I  want  to  see  justice  done.  This  poor 
devil " 

He  indicated  the  prisoner  rather  contemptuously  — 
*' could  about  steal  a  door  mat  with  'Welcome'  on  it, 
or  a  few  milk  cans,  or  maybe  some  plumbing  out  of  an 
empty  house.  The  Vaughan  robbery  loses  all  its  dignity 
by  being  fastened  on  him." 

"Fastened!"  repeated  Ejieebreeks  slowly. 

Stephen  nodded. 

"Can*t  you  see,"  he  said,  slapping  the  lieutenant  on 
the  shoulder.  "The  fellow's  ambitious.  He  wants  to 
get  out  of  his  class  and  work  with  a  swell  mob.  And,  of 
course.  Lieutenant,"  he  burlesqued,  again  slapping  Knee- 
breeks's  shoulder,  "he  wants  to  stand  in  with  you  —  do  you 
a  good  turn  as  it  were.  He  knows  these  are  cold  days 
for  a  plain-clothes  man  to  be  out  working  and,  anyhow, 
he  probably  calculates  to  be  warmer  in  jail  than  he 
would  be  outside.  He  has  a  lot  of  reasons  for  confess- 
ing.   Come  here,  my  boy!" 

He  addressed  the  prisoner,  who  remained  motionless,  his 
eyes  swivelling  from  Kneebreeks  to  the  Chief.  Kneebreeks 
crossed  between  him  and  Adams,  his  great  bulk  interposing 


THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN  111 

with  seeming  effectualness.  Stephen  disregarded  his  action. 
"You  — Mike!"  he  said.     "Come  here!" 

The  prisoner  retained  his  pitiful  motionlessness. 

"Why,"  rallied  Stephen  scornfully,  "be  a  man,  Mike! 
No?  Well,  then,  if  you  will  pardon  me,  Lieuten- 
ant." 

With  a  shoulder  grip  and  a  backward  motion  as  graceful 
as  it  was  diflBcult,  Stephen  removed  Kneebreeks  from  his 
path,  and  shook  the  prisoner  vigorously.  Mike  uttered  a 
little  scream,  and  went  down  on  his  knees. 

"Poor  deviir  said  Stephen  shaking  his  head;  then  he 
turned  sharply  to  the  Chief: 

"Discharge  him.  He's  no  more  guilty  than  you  are. 
I've  got  the  keeper  of  the  *rope  house'  where  he  slept  all 
that  night;  also  three  'ropers'  who  remember  him  being 
there  at  twelve  o'clock.  Mrs.  Vaughan  didn't  get  away 
from  the  opera  until  11:25,  according  to  her  own  statement; 
the  supper  at  Canary's  afterward  lasted  until  one;  so 
she  couldn't  have  been  home  until  a  quarter  after  at  least. 
Now  these  men  I've  got  outside  are  prepared  to 
swear  that  'Sheeny  Mike'  was  sound  asleep  long  before 
that  hour.  Better  let  him  go  before  I  take  the  thing 
before  a  judge  and  make  you  look  ridiculous  again;  you 
know  how  I  hate  doing  that.  Shall  I  have  them  come 
in?" 

"How  about  this  here  signed  confession  that  he  done  it?" 
asked  Kneebreeks,  whose  colour  remained  apoplectic 
through  the  strain  of  keeping  his  temper.  Stephen 
took  the  blue-backed  paper  and  glanced  at  it;  then 
laughed. 


112  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"That's  the  answer,"  he  replied,  pointing  to  the  prisoner 
who  was  still  on  his  knees.  "I  guess  the  least  said  about 
this  confession  the  better,  don't  you?  I'd  conveniently 
lose  it  if  I  were  you.  But  come,  I've  wasted  enough 
time,  gentlemen.  My  valet  has  the  witnesses  outside. 
Shall    they  come  in?" 

"Kneebreeks,"  said  the  Chief,  drawing  the  other  aside, 
"I  think  —  I  think  that " 

"Think  nothing,"  Kneebreeks  whispered  back.  "We've 
got  it  on  him.  I  told  you  he'd  about  butt  in.  We're 
framed  for  him  this  time.  Don't  back  down,  Chief. 
TeU  him." 

The  Chief  resumed  his  seat  and  stared  fixedly  at  the  floor 
for  a  suflScient  length  of  time  to  twist  his  features  into 
his  usual  steady  frown.  He  seemed  to  be  contemplating 
the  aspects  of  affairs  of  great  moment,  giving  them  earnest 
and  thoughtful  consideration. 

"Some  one,"  he  said,  finally,  "is  a  perjurer.  Now  we 
happen  to  have  two  witnesses  ourselves.  Both  of  them 
declare  that  'Sheeny  Mike'  made  a  statement  to  them 
that  he  had  been  'trailing'  Mrs.  Vaughan  for  days  and 
that  he  was  all  *prepped'  to  turn  this  particular  trick. 
Their  sworn  statements  —  taken  in  connection  with  this 
man's  confession,  which  is  also  sworn  —  make  the  evidence 
against  him  so  strong  that  I'm  afraid  we'll  have  to  let 
you  take  your  disreputable  lodging-house  keeper  and 
your  bums  before  the  judge,  who  will  decide  whose  case  is 
the  stronger  —  yours  or  that  of  those  hopeless  incom- 
petents —  the  police!" 

He  had  so  far  regained  his  spirits  as  to  attempt  irony  — 


THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN  113 

a  manner  he  affected  with  those  who  were  bound  to  show 
visible  signs  of  appreciation  or  who  were  too  dependent 
upon  his  mercy  to  forget  to  laugh  in  the  proper  place.  His 
sanguineness  of  manner  increased  when  he  noted  that 
Stephen  Adams  appeared  to  be  crestfallen. 

"Have  you — have  you  really  got  witnesses  who  will 
swear  that?" 

"We  have,  Mr.  Adams,"  Ejieebreeks  answered  for  the 
Chief.  He  had  lost  his  apoplectic  hue  and  spoke  in  im- 
portant tones,  as  one  who  doles  out  valuable  words 
sparingly. 

"Oh!"  said  Stephen  blankly,  and  then,  brightening  up 
a  bit,  added:     "Oh,  stool-pigeons,  I  suppose?" 

"No,  Mr.  Adams,"  monotoned  the  Chief.  "Much  as 
I  admire  your  courage,  I  regret  your  conventional  methods 
of  deduction.  If  you  will  glance  at  these  sworn  state- 
ments and  note  the  names,  you  will  observe  that  they  are 
not  those  of  'stools.' " 

Two  folded  blue-backs,  similar  to  the  confession  in  form, 
were  struck  open  by  the  man  at  the  desk,  placed  together 
and  handed  to  Stephen,  via  Kneebreeks.  He  studied 
each  one  carefully;  for  a  single  moment  he  wrinkled  his  brow 
in  thought;  then,  again  smiling,  and,  this  time  ignoring 
the  policemen,   he  addressed  Canby  Kernahan. 

"Old  man,  you  want  a  good  story  for  your  paper, 
of  course?" 

"Surest  thing  you  know." 

"Come  along  with  me,  then;  I'll  give  you  a  pippin;  one 
that  will  probably  result  in  there  being  a  new  Chief  of 
Detectives;  and,  incidentally,  in  the  transfer  of  Lieutenant 


114  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

Kneebreeks  back  to  'harness,'  with  a  station  somewhere  in 
a  lonely  part  of  the  Bronx.  Good-day,  gentlemen.  Don't 
be  afraid,  Mike;  don't  imagine  you're  going  to  get  the 
worst  of  it.  When  to-morrow's  paper  comes  out  you'll 
be  a  prisoner  only  a  few  hours  longer.  Again,  gentlemen, 
good-day!" 

Linking  his  arm  in  that  of  Canby  Kernahan,  Stephen 
Adams  pushed  open  the  door.  The  Chief  cast  a  look  of 
piteous  appeal  at  Kneebreeks,  who  winked  reassuringly; 
but  his  superior  was  not  the  lieutenant's  equal  in  fortitude, 
and  before  the  newspaper  man  and  his  cicerone  had  passed 
out  he  recalled  them  both  in  tones  that  were  decidedly  weak. 

"What  did  you  mean  by  that,  Mr.  Adams.  That  there 
would  be  a  new  head  to  the  Detective  Bureau?    That " 

Kneebreeks,  disgusted,  turned  his  back.  Stephen  ad- 
dressed Kernahan: 

"  Will  you  give  me  your  word  not  to  print  a  line  of  what 
I  am  going  to  say  if  they  release  this  poor  devil  imme- 
diately? Come,  man,  you're  a  human  being  first,  a  reporter 
afterward.  If  the  police  throw  down  their  hand,"  he 
added  in  a  tone  inaudible  to  the  others,  "there's  no  use 
in  crowing  over  them  in  the  papers.  Will  you  Just  say 
that  *  Sheeny  Mike*  was  released  for  want  of  suflBcient 
evidence?" 

The  last  sentence  was  delivered  in  his  normal  tones. 
Kernahan  made  a  gesture  of  annoyance,  but  Stephen  did 
not  give  him  time  to  object. 

"I'll  give  you  my  personal  help  on  the  story  —  the  real 
story  if  you  do." 

"Oh,     very      well,"     replied      Kernahan     resignedly. 


THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN  115 

"Although  if  my  city  editor  knew  what  I've  passed  up, 
I'd  get  the  blue  envelope  sure!  Go  ahead,  though:  I 
promise !  '* 

"Thanks,  old  man.  Well,  then,  gentlemen,  the  names 
of  the  two  men  signed  to  those  statements  are  those  of 
members  of  *  Chicken'  McGuimp's  *gang.'  And,  since 
reading  them,  I  have  suddenly  realized  why  you  let  *Big 
Harry'  and  'Nigger  Jake'  go  on  that  charge  of  beating 
up  Xavier  McMillan's  ex-coachman  the  other  night.  I 
know  McMillan  hired  those  two  men  to  go  as  close 
to  murdering  that  coachman  as  they  could  without 
actually  stamping  out  the  last  breath  of  life;  he's  in 
Rose  Hospital  now  with  five  ribs  broken,  a  gouged  eye, 
and  six  teeth  gone,  and  without  a  single  doubt  those  two 
fellows  did  it.  I  wondered  why  they  were  turned  loose 
the  next  day;  now  I  understand  perfectly;  and  the 
readers  of  this  man's  paper  will  get  my  ideas  to-morrow 
morning  imless  that  prisoner  walks  out  of  this  room 
with  me  right  now  without  any  more  talk.  D'you  under- 
stand?    WeU?" 

The  Chief  of  Detectives  avoided  his  steady  glance. 
Turning,  he  beckoned  to  Kneebreeks,  who  came  close  enough 
to  hear  his  whisper  and,  in  reply,  to  mutter  angrily.  But 
the  finality  of  his  superior's  attitude  was  unmistakable. 
Kneebreeks  left  him  to  put  a  hand  on  the  prisoner's 
shoulder. 

"  Come  along,  you ! "  he  said,  unable  to  speak  other  than 
ungraciously.     "Come  along!" 

"Accompany  them,  Mr.  Kemahan,  and  see  that  this 
fellow  is  turned  out  in  regular  feishion  —  *  discharged  for 


116  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

lack  of  evidence.'  I'll  meet  you  at  the  little  saloon  over 
the  way.  You  know,  Mr.  Kernahan,  of  course,  Lieu- 
tenant? Here,  Mike,  put  this  in  your  pocket  and  come 
to  see  me  to-morrow  at  my  apartment  —  Canary's, 
opposite  the  All-Night  Bank.  Mr.  Adams;  any  one  will 
tell  you;  and  don't  stop  to  thank  me." 

Holding  the  crumpled  twenty-dollar  bill,  the  prisoner 
stared  unbelievingly  at  this  man  who  seemed  woven  from  the 
gorgeous  fabric  of  dreams  —  a  hero  such  as  his  groping  mind 
had  pictured  from  the  stray  bits  of  reading  that  had  come 
his  way  —  a  Thaddeus  of  Warsaw,  a  John  Sobieski  —  some 
splendid  knight  of  Polish  history  who  had  figured  in  the 
tales  of  his  withered  grandam.  He  went  reluctantly,  loath 
to  lose  the  sight  of  this  demi-god.  Stephen  was  left  alone 
with  the  chief  of  detectives.  For  a  moment  he  did  not 
speak:  he  seemed  to  be  carefully  choosing  the  right  words, 
the  exact  construction  of  his  further  speech. 

"Chief,"  he  said  quietly,  and  into  his  eyes  crept  a  sadness 
that  was  hardly  a  match  for  his  years;  "Chief,  listen:  In 
your  position,  you  can  make  so  many  lives  miserable. 
Doesn't  it  hurt  you  to  think  of  that,  Chief.'*  When  you  lie 
down  at  night  aren't  you  troubled  by  thoughts  of  poor  devils 
hanging  by  their  arms  from  cell  doors,  flattening  themselves 
against  cell  walls  to  escape  the  brutal  torrent  of  a  fire 
hose;  crying  like  children  for  sleep  while  merciless  men  keep 
them  awake  night  after  night  until  they  have  signed 
their  names  to  some  damnable  lie  that  will  condemn 
them  to  year  after  year  of  imprisonment  for  offences 
they  have  never  committed  —  doesn't  it  trouble  you. 
Chief?" 


THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN  117 

"I  —  I  —  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  stammered  the 
other,  his  glance  directed  to  the  floor. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  do!  Man's  inhumanity  to  man.  Will  it 
always  be  this  way?  Will  men  with  power  always  be 
tyrants,  always  oppress  the  weak?  Chief,  you  know  as  well 
as  I  do  that  that  man  never  committed  that  crime,  but  he 
was  a  poor  devil  of  a  petty-larceny  crook  and  you  were  afraid 
of  what  the  people  and  the  press  would  say  if  the  police 
didn't  offer  a  sacrifice.  So  you  bribed  two  members  of 
McGuimp's  gang  to  sign  those  infernal  lies  and  you  third- 
degreed  that  confession  out  of  Mike.  In  exchange  you  set 
*  Nigger  Jake'  and  *Big  Harry'  free  when  you  knew  that 
for  a  few  dollars  they  had  viciously  beaten  that  coachman. 
But  the  coachman  didn't  have  any  friends;  nobody  would 
make  a  protest,  and  you  let  the  two  gorillas  go.  But  the 
Vaughan  robbery  is  different;  he's  a  rich  man;  he  can  make 
or  break  chiefs  of  detectives;  he  had  to  be  placated;  and  what 
did  a  wastrel  like  Mike  matter?     But,  listen.  Chief '* 

He  crossed  to  the  desk  and  deliberately  leaned  over. 

"Those  thefts  that  worry  you  people  so  much,  those 
hundred  thousand  and  quarter-million  touches  —  the 
Vaughan,  Youngston,  Willette,  Friedenheim,  and  Gersteiu 
robberies  —  they  aren't  committed  by  the  sort  of  man  you 
can  lay  your  fingers  on.  You  won't  do  yourself  any  good  by 
trying  to  fasten  them  on  other  people,  because,  I  give  you  fair 
warning,  I'm  not  going  to  let  you.  I'm  a  very  rich  man. 
Chief  —  a  millionaire;  and  this  sort  of  thing  is  my  hobby. 
And  before  I've  done  with  you,  you'll  throw  your  third 
degree  into  the  waste-basket.  Believe  me  when  I  tell  you ! 
But,  Chief,  listen:    I   don't  want   to    threaten.     I   want 


118  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

to  be  your  friend.  I'll  work  with  you  in  the  interests  of 
justice  every  time.  I  only  ask  a  little  mercy  —  a  little 
remembrance  of  the  fact  that  some  of  these  wretches  you 
torture  have  hearts  and  brains  and  people  who  love  them; 
that  they  are  guilty  enough  without  your  making  them  more 
so;  that  some  of  them  are  cold  and  hungry  and  miserable  — 
poor  drifters  who  can't  find  a  place  to  sleep  of  nights,  some- 
times, and  very  seldom  enough  to  eat.  Be  a  little  merciful 
with  them.  Chief.    They  are  so  weak,  so  miserable." 

Stephen  saw  that  the  man  in  the  chair  appeared  not  to  be 
listening.  He  paused  a  moment,  undecided,  then,  the  sad- 
ness still  upon  him,  left  the  room  quietly. 

The  Chief  did  not  look  up  until  Kneebreeks  entered  some 
little  while  later.  When  their  glances  met,  he  saw  infuriated 
hate  in  that  of  Kneebreeks,  and  rejoiced  that  it  should  be 
there. 

"This  man,  Adams " 

He  held  up  his  hand  to  check  the  flow  of  profanity  that 
followed. 

"Not  so  loud.  We'll  have  to  do  something:  not  talk! 
He's  got  money  and  the  money  he's  got  he's  willing  to  spend 
checkmating  us.  It's  got  to  stop,  KJieebreeks.  The  bureau 
will  go  to  hell  if  it  doesn't.'* 

"Well,  if  I  were " 

"If  you  held  my  job,  you*d  be  just  like  I  am.  We're 
helpless,  you  fool.  But,  if  somebody  else  was  his  enemy, 
eh?  Suppose  'Chicken  McGuimp'  were  told  about  what 
he  said?  He's  pretty  well  protected;  got  the  sheriff  back 
of  him  and  the  organization.  Still,  it  wouldn't  hurt  him 
to  have  us  for  his  good  friends,  eh?'' 


THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN  119 

Kneebreeks's  face  was  indeed  immobile;  it  took  almost  a 
full  moment  for  his  anger  to  be  replaced  by  a  look  of  cunning 
which  in  its  turn  gave  way  to  a  brightening  of  the  eye  and 
a  broad  grin.  Finally  he  burst  into  an  immoderate  bull 
laugh,  and  slapped  his  superior's  shoulder  with  a  huge  hand. 

"Say,  Chief,  you're  all  right.  Well,  I  guess  yes.  You're 
—  all  —  rightr* 


VISIONS    IN   THE    FIRE 

That  Eddie  O'Brien,  whose  patronymic  had  been  for  so 
long  a  time  submerged  into  the  nom-de-piano  of  "Rag," 
could  be  persuaded  to  sink  his  identity  in  a  cutaway  coat, 
a  red  and  black  striped  waistcoat  with  metal  buttons  upon 
it,  and  a  bow  tie  of  white  percale,  the  unmistakable  badges  of 
servitude,  would  have  been  an  almost  incredible  prophecy 
to  those  who  knew  him  "when  the  joints  was  good." 
With  a  career  behind  him  which  began  at  the  age  of  seven, 
when  he  sold  papers  on  the  short-change  system,  taking 
in  a  period  when  he  was  known  as  the  "sweet  boy  tenor" 
of  various  rathskellers,  singing,  by  request,  songs  that 
induced  remarks  from  weepy  patrons  on  the  order  of  "if 
you  knew  my  real  name  and  what  my  people  were," 
emerging  from  this  occupation  to  the  honkatonk-post- 
graduate  course  of  "singing  waiter,"  through  the  various 
stages  of  piano-player,  floor  manager  of  dance  halls, 
three-card-monte  man,  and  deeper  descents  into  that 
Avernus  known  as  the  underworld,  which  finally  ter- 
minated in  a  few  years'  endurance  of  the  state's  hospitality. 


120  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

Rag  had  finally  become  respectable.  For  he  was  man 
servant  to  Stephen  Adams,  Esq.,  who,  as  all  folks  knew,  held 
forth  at  Canary's.  Now,  standing  in  a  respectful  attitude 
near  one  of  the  brass  railings  at  headquarters,  he  bowed 
acknowledgment  of  his  master's  exit  from  the  oflBce  of  the 
chief  of  detectives. 

"We  won't  need  your  men,  Edward,"  said  Stephen. 
"  Give  them  something  and  let  them  go." 

"Yes,  sir;  thank  you,  sir.'* 

"I  dine  with  the  Livingstones  to-night  and  go  on  to  the 
opera,  Edward.     I'll  be  in  at  six,  or  maybe  a  trifle  later." 

"Quite  so;  good  afternoon,  sir." 

He  turned  to  his  shabby  companions,  and  Stephen  cut 
through  the  building,  emerging  on  Mulberry  Street,  where, 
in  an  ill-smelling  grog  shop  on  the  other  side  of  the  street, 
he  found  the  newspaper  man  awaiting  him. 

"I  wouldn't  insult  you  by  asking  you  to  drink  here," 
laughed  Stephen.  "And,  anyhow,  I'm  a  bit  late  for  an 
engagement  with  the  most  charming  young  lady  in  New 
York,  in  my  opinion.  For  your  courtesy  in  the  matter 
I  will  further  bribe  the  press  by  introducing  you  to  her. 
Hey,  taxi!" 

They  entered  the  vehicle  and  Stephen  gave  an  address 
in  Washington  Square. 

"I  presume  you  mean  Miss  Duress?'* 

"No  presumption  at  all.  If  you  drink  tea  occasionally, 
she  has  a  brand  and  a  method  that  will  make  you  swear  off 
drinking  it  anywhere  else.     Have  you  the  time?" 

"There  are  some  circumstances  that  make  time  for 
themselves,"  said  the  newspaper  man.     "A  man  doesn't 


THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN  121 

often  get  the  chance  of  meeting  a  young  lady  like  Miss 
Duress.  She's  about  the  only  one  nowadays  who  can  rank 
with  you  on  the  sociological  racket,  and  her  being  a  pretty 
woman  makes  it  all  the  more  extraordinary.  Those  model 
tenements  of  hers  are  scheduled  to  open  pretty  soon,  aren't 
they?" 

"Day  after  New  Year's,"  replied  Stephen,  "and  she's 
already  had  five  himdred  more  requests  than  she  has  flats, 
though  she  has  extended  her  plans  since  the  first  ones  were 
drawn.  They  cover  a  triangle  made  up  by  Jonquil,  Pearl, 
and  Seventh  Streets." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know.  And  I  also  know  that  you  were  re- 
sponsible for  the  extension  of  the  plans,  Mr.  Adams.  Why, 
altogether,  you  must  have  fifty  thousand  dollars  in  the  ven- 
ture, haven't  you?" 

Stephen's  face  clouded. 

"All  credit  for  the  model  tenemen1;s  is  entirely  due  to 
Miss  Duress,"  he  said  a  trifle  stiffly.  "That  I  contributed 
a  few  thousands  means  nothing.  It  was  her  idea  and  she 
raised  all  the  money,  besides  the  large  sums  she  gave 
personally  herself.  Any  time  you  have  to  write  about  them 
please  see  that  she  gets  the  credit  she  deserves  —  which 
is  aR  of  it." 

"Oh,  certainly,  Mr.  Adams,  naturally.  But  about  this 
Vaughan  robbery  now:  I've  got  the  story  to  cover;  I  don't 
want  it,  but  I've  got  it,  and  you  said  you'd  help  me.  Now 
it's  my  opinion  (and  I  want  you  to  tell  me  what  you  think 
of  it)  that  this  Vaughan  business  is  just  such  another  as 
the  Gerstein  affair  and  a  good  many  others  that  have  been 
perpetrated  in  the  last  year.  It  bears  the  same  marks  of 
thought  in  plan  and  execution:  there  is  absolutely  no  clue 


122  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

left,  and,  like  all  the  others,  the  thief  wasn't  seen  by  the 
person  from  whom  the  stuff  was  stolen.  No  violence,  no 
bungling,  no  play  with  weapons  —  nothing.  I  tell  you  I 
believe  there  is  a  master  criminal  at  work  in  New  York  City." 

"Nonsense,  old  man,"  laughed  Stephen.  "Just  coinci- 
dence, that's  all.  But,  of  course,  every  one  of  those  rob- 
beries you  speak  of  showed  some  brains;  that's  why  I  object 
to  having  them  fastened  on  incapables  like  this  little  Polish 
Jew  I  just  set  free." 

"Yes,  I  know;  you  interfered  in  the  Gerstein  matter; 
that's  why  I  mentioned  it.  In  several  others  too.  So  I 
thought  you  might  have  some  theory." 

"None  at  all,"  answered  Stephen  airily,  "except  that  the 
police  are  rather  stupid." 

He  rapped  on  the  window  of  the  taxicab  and  the  driver 
brought  his  machine  to  a  stop  before  a  white-columned 
house,  in  the  garden  of  which  stood  a  marble  maiden  holding 
aloft  a  jug  that  always  ceased  to  pour  water  at  the  first  signs 
of  frost;  a  house  with  a  certain  nobility  to  it,  its  severely 
plain  Doric  outlines  softened  by  the  ivy  and  Virginia  creeper 
that  had  interwoven  in  the  course  of  the  past  half  century. 

Kernahan  looked  at  his  watch. 

"Afraid  I  was  a  little  too  careless  of  the  paper's  time," 
he  said.  "  I've  got  to  write  a  lead  to  this  Vaughan  story  and 
I've  got  hardly  anything  of  any  importance  to  say;  besides, 
I  must  look  after  two  other  men  and  three  cubs  who're  work- 
ing on  it  with  me.  I'm  too  much  of  a  Southerner  yet  to 
take  a  cup  of  tea  from  the  hands  of  a  young  lady  and  apol- 
ogize for  going  while  I  drink  it.  May  I  come  to  see  you 
some  time,  Mr.  Adams?" 


THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN  123 

"Any  time  at  all.  Sorry  you  won't  come  in.  You've 
got  my  address?" 

And  as  Kernahan  turned  away,  with  his  romance  woven 
now  around  the  heroic  figure  of  Stephen  Adams,  to  rehearse 
over  and  over  the  other  man's  splendid  defiance  of  the  law, 
Stephen  himself,  merry  as  a  boy  from  school,  bounded  up 
the  white  marble  steps  and  gave  the  nose  of  a  brass  griffon 
several  sharp  tweaks.  Its  protests  in  the  shape  of  knocks 
upon  the  heavy  mahogany  door  under  the  fanlight  re- 
sulted in  its  immediate  opening  by  an  ancient  coloured  man 
in  almost  equally  ancient  livery,  who,  day  in  and  out,  sat 
on  a  carved  seat  in  the  broad  hall,  in  his  hand  a  copy  of  a 
newspaper  from  which  he  spelt  out  headlines  in  the  hope 
of  being  able  some  day  to  boast  a  speaking  acquaintance 
with  the  stories  under  them.  He  had  begun  this  tedious 
task  when  Horace  Greeley  was  the  arbiter  of  "heads"  and 
had  decreed  that  even  a  decisive  victory  for  the  Union 
should  be  announced  in  block  type  but  a  shade  larger  than 
the  main  body  of  the  narrative  itself.  He  had  rejoiced  in 
the  radical  policy  of  Mr.  Dana,  who  believed  the  atten- 
tion of  the  public  was  better  held  by  blocks  of  twice  the  size 
favoured  by  the  great  aider  of  Western  colonization;  and  he 
had  welcomed  the  advent  of  Mr.  Pulitzer,  and  later,  of  Mr. 
Hearst,  as  great  educators  of  ancient  coloured  men;  but, 
still,  he  gleaned  all  his  knowledge  of  the  world's  doings  from 
the  condensations  above  the  date  lines. 

"Yessah;  she's  a-waitin'  fo  yo',  suh.  Ve'y  pow'ful  draf' 
down  chimluh  to-day,  Missuh  Adams;  fires  jes'  lak  ro'in' 
fuhnaces  what  consumed  sinnahs  but  lef '  dem  three  fellahs 
what  trusted  in  de  Lawd  puf 'ly  safe.     Wha'  was  dem  names. 


124  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

Missuh  Adams?  One  oi  dem  had  'uh  name  lak  uh  fish, 
othah  one  was  a  nigguh  lak  me " 

"You  mean  Shadrach  and  Abednego,"  laughed  Stephen. 
"The  other  was  Meshach." 

"Pow'ful  hard  fo'  an  old  nigguh  to  sabe  his  soul  ef  he  have 
to  know  dem  ve'y  dif'cult  names,  Missuh  Adams.  Missie 
Dessie,  she's  in  her  own  lib'y>  suh.  Said  yo'  was  to  come 
right  up." 

"Thanks,  Uncle  Fairfax.  How's  your  rheumatiz?" 

"Po'ly,  thank  you,  suh,  po'ly." 

It  was  an  inevitable  question  and  an  equally  inevitable 
answer.  Uncle  Fairfax  resumed  his  seat  by  the  hall  door 
and  the  copy  of  the  evening  paper  with  the  preposterous 
headlines,  and  Stephen,  crossing  the  broad  expanse  of 
polished,  parquetted  hall,  ascended  the  winding  stairs,  whose 
spindle  balusters  of  carved  mahogany  had  been  copied 
by  every  architect  in  the  city  who  built  houses  on  the 
Queen  Anne  plan. 

It  was  about  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  but  as  the 
shortest  day  of  the  year  was  soon  to  be  upon  them,  dark- 
ness was  already  beginning  to  fall  and  the  light  of  the  fire 
sought  bits  of  brass  and  silver  in  Decima's  library  and  picked 
them  out  in  red.  At  Stephen's  entrance  the  girl  arose  from 
the  tea  equipage  which  had  been  wheeled  into  the  room  and 
gave  him  her  hand,  which  he  took  and  held  with  a  gesture 
that  was  almost  a  caress.  She  always  seemed  slightly  dis- 
appointed, however,  after  every  exchange  of  handshakes 
with  Stephen,  and  now  she  reseated  herself,  and  poured  the 
boiling  water  from  the  little  kettle  upon  the  tea  waiting 
its  immersion. 


THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN  125 

He  seated  himself  opposite  her,  the  reflection  of  the  fire- 
light on  the  silver  between  them  lighting  up  their  faces. 
She  was  in  a  loose  tea  gown  of  yellow  and  silver  threads, 
her  hair  parted  in  the  middle  and  brought  down  low  over 
her  brows  in  the  Greek  fashion,  which  served  to  accentuate 
her  youth.  Stephen  watched  her  slender,  ringless  fingers 
as  they  deftly  moved  the  bits  of  silverware  about, 
wishing  he  might  grace  one  of  them  with  a  ring  at  once 
costly  and  simple  —  a  proclamation  to  the  world  of  his 
ownership. 

"Of  course  you  got  him  off,"  she  remarked  as  she  handed 
him  his  cup  of  tea,  the  saucer  bearing  some  thin  sweet 
biscuits.    It  was  not  a  question,  simply  a  statement  of  fact. 

He  nodded. 

"Nothing  but  his  helplessness  ever  persuaded  the  police 
he  could  be  proved  guilty." 

"That's  the  point,"  she  said,  sipping  her  tea.  "Who 
would  imagine  that  Stephen  Adams  —  Stephen  the  Mag- 
nificent   " 

"Oh,  please,  Dessie,  forget  that  silly  newspaper  phrase." 

"I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  sort.  'Etienne  le  magnifique'  — 
oh,  beautiful,  Stephen!    It  gives  the  people  a  picture." 

"A  silly  picture;  those  Frenchmen  are  always  so  infer- 
nally romantic.  There's  nothing  magnificent  about  me, 
that  is  certain." 

"Your  modesty  is  magnficent  if  nothing  else.  Don't 
be  absurd,  Stephen.  I'm  sure  you're  always  pretending. 
Why,  I'll  be  willing  to  wager  you  spend  half  an  hour  dressing 
every  day." 

*  T  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  he  replied  indignantly.     "You 


126  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

can  ask  Rag  if  I  do.     He's  around  me  all  the  time  and  he 
knows  more  about  me  than  anybody  else." 

"Ask  Rag?"  she  echoed  scornfully.  "Why  he  couldn't 
see  any  faults  in  you  if  you  committed  murder.  He  wor- 
ships the  very  ground  you  walk  on,  Stephen.  The  very 
fact  he's  willing  to  be  a  valet  proves  that.  Dear  old 
Rag!" 

"I'm  awf'ly  glad  you  like  him,  Dessie,"  said  Stephen 
eagerly.     "He's  such  a  good  fellow." 

"I  like  him  because  he  adores  you,"  she  said  quietly. 

Stephen  squirmed  in  his  chair.  Decima  had  a  habit 
of  making  remarks  like  that,  remarks  that  could  be  ade- 
quately answered  in  but  one  way  —  a  way  in  which  he 
longed  with  all  his  heart  and  soul  to  answer,  but  which  his 
very  love  for  her  prevented. 

"Stephen  the  Magnificent," she  soliloquized,  setting  down 
her  teacup.  "Why  not?  You're  so  big  and  good-looking 
and  well  dressed  —  that's  enough  to  begin  with;  but  when 
you  add  to  that  your  unselfishness,  your  championship  of 
those  who  can't  help  themselves,  your  liberality " 

"Oh,  Dessie!    Please,  please " 

"I  can't  help  it,  Stephen.  From  the  very  first  moment 
we  met  I've  always  been  perfectly  frank  with  you;  always 
said  just  what  was  in  my  mind;  and,  just  now,  you,  and 
nothing  else,  are  in  it.  Now  don't  make  some  silly  joke 
about  how  light  and  unburdened  my  thoughts  must  be 
I  hate  false  modesty!" 

She  rang  the  bell. 

"More  tea?" 

"  I've  had  two  cups  and  five  crackers.     I've  got  to  think 


THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN  127 

of  that  fifty-seven  varieties  of  courses  they'll  give  us  at 
the  Livingstones'  to-night." 

"Yes,  and  I  suppose  you'll  go  in  with  Isabel,  as  usual  — 
that  silly  little  thing!  You  know  she  hasn't  got  one  single 
thought  that's  worth  listening  to." 

"She  subscribed  ten  thousand  to  your  tenements, 
Dessie." 

"Yes,  and  you  know  well  enough  why.  You  can  clear 
away,  Clara,"  she  broke  off  as  the  capped  and  aproned  upper 
house-maid  entered  softly  and  stood  by  the  door.  When 
the  equipage  had  been  wheeled  over  the  soft  Teheran  rug 
and  its  wheels  sounded  on  the  parquet  floor  of  the  hall, 
Decima  arose  and  closed  the  door. 

"Yes,  you  know  well  enough  why,"  she  repeated 
accusingly. 

"Of  course;  because  I've  persuaded  her  that  she  can  be 
happier  helping  others  than  leading  the  selfish  life  she's 
led  up  to  now." 

"Oh,  piffle,  Stephen;  excuse  me  —  but  piffle!  I  went 
over  the  same  arguments  with  her  a  hundred  times  before 
she  met  you  and  all  she  said  was,  'But  those  people  are  so 
dirty,'  as  if  that  ended  the  argument.  Why,  you  know 
well  enough  she's  in  love  with  you  —  head  over  heels  — 
and  I've  a  good  mind  not  to  go  to  their  old  dinner  to-night  — 
now!" 

"Now,  Dess,  donH;  please  don't,"  said  Stephen  uncom- 
fortably. "You're  always  imagining  girls  are  in  love  with 
me.  It's  so  ridiculous.  Why,  I'm  preaching  a  new  sort  of 
gospel,  that's  all,  and  they're  so  bored  with  the  lives  they 
lead  that  they've  taken  it  up." 


128  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"  Yes,  the  gospel  of  a  fine,  manly  figure  and  good-looking 
eyes  —  that's  all  the  gospel  they  see,  and  you  know  it. 
I  don't  care,  Stephen;  I'm  not  going  to  stand  it.  I  can't 
bear  to  see  them  putting  on  that  mysterious,  far-away  look 
and  telling  you  that  you  are  the  first  man  who  ever  under- 
stood they  had  real  brains  and  were  not  just  dolls  to  be 
petted  and  dressed  up  —  and  —  and  —  actually  putting 
their  hands  on  you.  Why,  not  one  of  them  will  let  go  your 
hand  when  you  go  to  say  good-by;  they  go  on  talking 
just  so  they  can  keep  hold  of  it,  the  little  cats !  Oh,  I  know 
you  don't  encourage  them;  I  don't  think  you  care  a  speck 
for  one  woman  in  the  world;  but,  anyhow,  I'm  sincere. 
I  had  planned  a  lot  of  things  for  the  poor  before  I 
met  you;  I  don't  just  do  them  because  I'm  in  love  with 
you " 

She  paused,  biting  her  lip  and  looking  at  him.  He  had 
forgotten  to  be  uncomfortable;  his  face  lit  up,  his  eyes 
sparkled,  and  he  turned  suddenly  to  her.  She  threw  her- 
self down  on  the  hearth  rug  before  the  fire,  and,  sitting 
there,  took  his  hand. 

"Stephen,  I  didn't  mean  to  let  it  out.  It  came  just 
naturally.     Stephen " 

"Oh,  my  dear!"  he  said,  and  gathered  her  into  his  arms. 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Presently  she  released  herself 
and  sat  on  the  rug  again. 

"You  do  love  me,  Stephen?" 

"Better  than  anything  in  the  world,  dear,"  he  replied 
soberly. 

"And  you  —  you  don't  think  me  immodest  —  for  telling 
you?" 


THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN  129 

"No,  dear;  it  was  my  fault.  I  should  have  spoken  myself. 
You  must  have  known  I  loved  you." 

"  I  did  —  think  so.  But  whether  you  did  or  not,  I  wanted 
you  to  tell  me  so.  Stephen,  I  loved  you  ten  minutes  after 
you  sat  down  beside  me  on  that  boat  last  year.  I  couldn't 
help  it  —  it  just  —  camel  And  I  —  I  just  couldn't  stand 
those  other  women  putting  their  hands  on  you.  I  wanted 
to  shriek  out  that  you  were  mine,  mine  —  that  you  belonged 
to  me  —  me!  ** 

"I  do,  Decima;  I  always  have.  It  was  just  the  same 
with  me  as  it  was  with  you." 

"But  you  —  you  never  told  me." 

"That  was  because  I  did  love  you,  Decima.  Maybe 
I  ought  to  tell  you  something  else,  but,  somehow,  I  can't.  In 
this  old  house,  where  everything  is  so  quiet,  every  one  so 
happy  and  contented,  the  world  seems  a  sweet,  clean  sort  of 
place  —  a  dispensation  of  the  Almighty  for  which  we  should 
be  thankful.  My  own  rebellion  strikes  me  with  horror.  I  — 
no,  Decima,  I  can't  tell  you  —  not  now.  Maybe,  soon, 
I'll  nerve  myself  to  do  it.  You  ought  to  know  all  about 
me,  and  there's  a  lot  I've  never  dared  tell  you." 

"Something  I  shouldn't  know?"  she  echoed.  "About 
you?  Oh,  no,  Stephen,  I  guess  there  isn't  much  about  you 
I  don't  know  —  not  likely,  when  you've  been  in  my  mind 
day  and  night  for  the  past  year.  You're  one  of  God's 
own  noblemen:  never  a  thought  for  yourself,  always  for 
others.  There's  nothing  about  you  I  don't  know,  for,  don't 
you  see,  I  know  you.  And  even  if  there  was,"  she  added  a 
little  fiercely,  "it  wouldn't  make  any  difference  in  my  love. 
If  you're  in  trouble,  I  want  to  comfort  you.     Tell  me!" 


130  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"Do  you  ever  look  in  the  fire  and  dream,  Dessie?" 

"Yes,  of  you.    And  you,  too,  Stephen?" 

"It  is  life  to  me,  Dessie,"  he  said,  a  strange  note  in  his 
voice,  for  he  spoke  in  the  tones  of  one  who  dreams.  "See, 
now  it  burns  a  steady  red  glow,  all  the  little  bits  of  coal 
equally  alight.  But  every  now  and  then  one  of  the  little 
pieces  springs  upward  and  bursts  into  a  bright  yellow  flame, 
exulting  in  its  predominance  over  the  others,  then  sinks 
down  and  is  utterly  gone.  Life  is  like  that,  Dessie:  if  we 
burn  brighter  than  our  fellows  for  our  little  hour,  so  is  that 
little  hour  shortened.  He  who  burns  brightly  burns  rapidly, 
Dessie,  and  soon  is  gone;  and  the  others  burn  on  steadily, 
never  knowing  —  or  caring.     Life,  Dessie,  life!" 

"Stephen,"  she  cried  terrified,  "I  don't  understand;  what 
do  you  mean?" 

"  Sometimes,  I  look  and  I  see — visions,"  he  said.  "  Visions 
of  a  people  happy  in  the  happiness  of  others;  of  those 
who  were  once  the  oppressors  become  the  friends;  of  the 
laughter  of  the  little  children  of  the  poor;  of  no  man  seeking 
that  which  will  harm  another;  and  sometimes  I  hear  my 
name  spoken,  spoken  kindly,  gratefully  —  as  of  one  who 
did  his  little  bit  toward  making  a  world  like  that.  I  see 
them  remembering  what  the  Man  of  Nazareth  said  — 
amazed  that  they  should  ever  have  forgotten  it.  The 
wolf  faces  and  the  faces  of  the  foxes  have  gone  from  out 
the  race  of  men;  all  are  gentle  —  and  kind!" 

He  broke  o£f,  his  face  darkening. 

"And  then  I  see  another  vision:  a  race  of  slaves,  living 
in  great  stone  prisons,  lettered  and  numbered  by  their 
masters;  men  with  the  blind  eyes  of  moles,  working  endlessly. 


THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN  131 

they  know  not  why,  working  not  that  they  may  be  happy, 
but  only  that  they  may  be  allowed  to  live;  slaves  who  are 
no  longer  men.  I  see  that,  Dessie,  and  I  am  afraid  —  and 
so  I  will  go  on,  on,  fighting,  fighting  until  the  end,  even 
with  the  shadow  of  the  gallows  across  my  path:  even  with 
that  — I'll  fight!" 

"Stephen,  what  do  you  mean?" 

He  took  her  in  his  arms;  his  eyes  were  wet. 

"I  mean,  Dessie,  that  if  we  married  I  must  give  up  the 
fight.  I  could  not  ask  you  to  share  a  life  like  mine.  I  love 
you  too  much  for  that." 

"A  life  like  yours?"  she  echoed. 

"Like  mine  —  you  don't  know  —  and  I  can't  tell  you  now. 
Love  me,  Dessie,  and  let  me  love  you;  but  tell  no  one.  Some 
time  it  may  come  right;  then  —  then  there'll  be  always 
happy  pictures  in  the  fire,  my  own." 

"Anything  —  anything  you  say,  Stephen,"  she  whispered. 
"Only  remember  you're  mine  —  mine!" 

m 

THE   VULTURES 

Though  Schramm  had  been  gathered  to  his  fathers,  and 
the  old  chapel  was  replaced  by  a  flimsy  "taxpayer "building, 
let  out  to  secret  societies  and  Sunday  schools  for  meetings 
and  amateur  entertainments,  the  House  of  the  Dominie, 
which  had  long  since  passed  under  the  ownership  of  Wulf 
Axtell,  stood  intact,  its  bleak  gray  walls  a  landmark  in  the 
neighbourhood.  In  the  second-story  front  room  Wulf 
Axtell  had  sat  for  the  past  ten  years  unable  to  move  a  foot. 


1S2  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

and  only  barely  able  to  lift  a  cigar  to  his  mouth.  They  had 
contrived  a  grandfather's  chair  for  him,  which  rolled  about 
on  wheels,  and  when  it  was  light,  he  sat  at  the  window, 
with  an  arrangement  of  mirrors  set  in  the  frame  that  he 
might  see  those  who  passed  on  both  sides  of  the  street,  and 
even  get  a  glimpse  of  Sixth  Avenue  where  electrics  had  long 
since  replaced  the  little  smoky  engines  he  knew  in  the  old 
days  of  the  "L."  For  some  time  he  had  been  companion- 
less,  but  now  Van  Tromp  was  infirm,  too,  and  they  got 
him  the  twin  chair  to  Axtell's.  So,  day  in  and  out,  the  old 
grocer  would  sit  beside  him  at  the  window,  or  opposite  him 
at  the  fireplace,  as  he  was  doing  now,  bearing  with  his 
abuse  and  even  pretending  that  his  own  infirmity  was  as 
great  as  The  Wolf's;  although,  if  he  awoke  earlier  than 
his  companion,  he  would  often  hobble  down  stairs  and  walk 
up  to  Sixth  Avenue,  bearing  heavily  on  his  stick,  to  watch 
the  customers  passing  in  and  out  of  the  shop  he  had 
tended  for  forty  years,  and  which  now  bore  the  sign  of  the 
grocery  corporation,  "Janissary  and  Duress,  Limited." 
There  he  would  stand,  weeping  maudlinly  or  else  chuckling 
senilely,  until  a  servant,  alarmed  at  Axtell's  awakening, 
would  run  out  and  fetch  him  back. 

They  had  a  fire  in  The  Wolf's  house  that  night,  too,  but 
it  was  not  a  fire  of  fancies  to  Stephen  as  he  entered  and  saw 
the  two  old  men  like  hideous  gargoyles  on  either  side  of  the 
hearth.  Van  Tromp  had  dropped  to  sleep,  muttering  and 
showing  toothless  gums,  while  Axtell  scowled  at  him  from 
under  fierce  white  brows  that  bristled,  his  eyes  the  incarna- 
tion of  evil. 

Hilary  in  a  frock  coat,  with  a  gardenia  in  his  buttonhole. 


THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN  133 

sat  swinging  his  legs  from  the  centre  table;  Hilary  had  "in- 
dulged" but  an  hour  or  so  before  and  he  was  feeling  par- 
ticularly optimistic.  George  le  Fay,  in  a  suit  of  hard-faced 
cloth,  was  smoking  the  cigar  most  patronized  by  the  middle 
class;  and  Morgenstein,  a  lean,  handsome  Jew,  was  plaiting 
and  unplaiting  a  purple  handkerchief  that  matched  his 
tie  and  socks,  for  he  was  a  nervous  man  and  must  ever  be 
doing  something  with  those  prehensile  fingers.  He  was  the 
member  of  the  company  who  disposed  of  stolen  goods  and 
was  remarkably  keen  at  a  bargain,  knew  exactly  how  much 
any  one  to  whom  he  sold  would  pay,  and  never  made  a 
mistake  about  whom  to  trust. 

"A  little  late,  Stephen,"  he  said. 

"Sorry.     We're  all  here,  aren't  we.?" 

He  looked  around  the  room,  then  turned  on  the  light  from 
the  door;  a  red-shaded  lamp  on  the  table  responded  and 
half-lit  the  room.  Morgenstein  locked  the  doors.  Old 
Van  Tromp  stirred  in  his  sleep. 

"Piling  it  up,"  he  muttered  drowsily,  "piling  it  wp." 

"Shut  up,  you  old  idiot,"  roared  Axtell.  "Hand  me  a 
book  or  something  to  throw  at  him,  somebody." 

"Oh,  let  him  alone,  Mr.  Axtell,"  said  Stephen.  "He's 
not  doing  any  one  any  harm.  Well,  now,  let's  get  to 
business.  I  must  get  away  from  here  before  six.  I've 
called  you  all  together  for  a  very  good  reason  and  I  don't 
want  it  misunderstood.  So  everybody  get  his  cigar  or 
cigarette  lit  and  listen." 

Morgenstein  could  not  resist  a  placid  sneer. 

"How  long  has  it  been  since  you've  been  the  head  of  this 
*gang,'  Stevey?" 


134  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"Now,  Morgy,  don't  be  nasty,"  replied  the  younger  man. 
"  We  don't  want  any  bad  feeling  among  ourselves,  you  know. 
I'm  not  going  to  give  any  orders.  I'm  simply  going  to  make 
a  statement." 

He  reached  into  his  pocket,  took  out  a  bundle  of  sketches 
captioned  in  "hog-latin,"  and  spread  them  open  for  the 
others  to  see. 

"Everybody  knows  what  they  are,  of  course " 

Hilary,  Le  Fay,  and  Morgenstein  craned  their  necks  and 
nodded.     Wulf  Axtell  extended  a  hand. 

"Ah,  the  Gresham  Theatre ' soundings,'  "  he  said.  "  Well, 
Stevey,  boy,  aren't  they  all  right?  " 

"They  ought  to  be  all  right,"  challenged  George  le  Fay 
heavily.  "I  put  in  two  weeks  getting  the  dope  on  that 
place.  Those  plans  are  as  good  as  any  architect  could  draw. 
The  entrance  is  a  cinch,  and  the  getaway 's  immense.  It's  a 
pipe,  Stevey,  with  nine  to  twenty  thousand  ready  money  in 
the  safe  every  Saturday  night  that  stays  there  until  they 
take  it  to  the  bank  on  Monday.  They're  awful  suckers  not 
to  deposit  in  the  All  Night  when  they've  got  a  successful 
play  like  'Ambition'  there." 

Hilary  scanned  them  also.  "And,  dear  old  chap,"  he 
said  to  Stephen,  "I  flatter  myself  that  I  made  rather  good 
sketches  from  George's  descriptions." 

"Not  a  single  miss,"  averred  Le  Fay.  "What's  the 
matter  with  them,  Stevey?'* 

"Only  this,"  replied  Stephen  Adams,  and,  taking  the 
plans  from  Axtell 's  hand,  he  tossed  them  on  the  burning 
coals  and  stood  with  his  back  to  the  fireplace.  Axtell 
roared  out  a  violent  imprecation,  which  awoke  Van  Tromp 


THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN  135 

again.  Seeing  Stephen,  he  vented  his  senile  laugh  and 
rubbed  his  crackly  old  hands  together: 

"Is  he  going  to  rob  Janissary  this  time?  Eh,  Stevey, 
good  boy,  go  after  him  —  go  after  him,  Stevey.  Robber 
and  persecutor  and  piling  it  wp." 

Axtell,  gritting  his  teeth,  tried  to  reach  the  poker  with 
his  helpless  hand.  Van  Tromp,  suddenly  afraid,  pretended 
to  sleep  again. 

"Look  here,  Steve,"  said  George  le  Fay,  angered  at  the 
destruction  of  work  which  he  had  already  translated  into 
money,  "what  do  you  think  you're  doing?" 

"Yes,  boy,"  grated  Axtell.  "You  forget  yourself  — 
d'you  understand;  you  forget  yourself!" 

"On  the  contrary,  Mr.  Axtell,"  said  Stephen  coldly, 
"it  is  you  and  George  and  Hilary  and  Morgy  who  forget 
themselves.  You  gave  me  reason  to  believe  that  Henry 
K.  Morris  of  the  Gresham  Theatre  was  some  kind  of  a 
beast.  I've  just  found  that  he  treats  his  employes  better, 
pays  them  bigger  salaries,  provides  them  with  better  ac- 
commodations, and  is  an  all-around  better  fellow  than  any 
theatrical  man  in  the  business.  Why,  only  to-day,  as  I  sat 
in  his  office,  talking  to  him,  a  friend  of  his  wanted  to  borrow 
ten  thousand  over  the  'phone.  Morris  simply  told  him  to 
send  up  for  the  certified  check  and  hung  up  the  receiver. 
Now  that's  a  real  man  for  you;  and  if  you  think  I'd  steal  a 
dollar  of  his  money  you're  mighty  well  mistaken!" 

"He's  a  member  of  the  syndicate  —  the  theatrical  syn- 
dicate," said  George  le  Fay  weakly.  He  had  originated  the 
affair  and  he  did  not  like  the  threat  in  Stephen's  eyes. 

Stephen  looked  down  at  the  fire.     Seeing  that  the  plans 


136  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

were  now  but  a  crumbling  mass  of  black  cinders,  he 
resumed  his  seat  under  the  red  glow  of  the  electric 
lamp. 

"The  fact  that  he's  in  a  syndicate  doesn't  make  him  a 
thief,"  he  said  coldly.  "He  has  not  taken  advantage  of 
his  position  to  oppress  anybody.  He's  a  jolly,  hearty  busi- 
ness man  with  fine,  square,  honest  principles.  There's 
hardly  a  theatrical  charity  to  which  he  hasn't  contrib- 
uted more  heavily  than  any  other  manager,  and  his  suc- 
cess is  due  to  the  use  of  his  own  brains  in  a  decent. 
God-fearing  way." 

"He's  worth  a  million  or  two,  dear  old  boy,"  objected 
Hilary. 

"What  if  he  is?  A  man  can  make  that  much  squarely 
if  he's  a  clever  man.  Don't  tell  me  anything  about  Henry 
K.  Morris.  Every  cent  he's  got  he  deserves  to  have.  He's 
been  poor  and  lived  on  twenty-five  dollars  a  week  for 
years  at  a  time;  he's  learned  the  theatrical  business  from 
A  to  Z  through  actual  work  in  every  theatrical  capacity; 
and,  finally,  when  he  accumulated  a  little  money,  he  risked 
it  on  his  judgment  of  plays  and  actors.  He  actually  risked 
it  —  money  earned  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow;  and  he's  stood 
the  chance  of  losing  every  penny.  But  the  people  have  liked 
his  productions  and  willingly  pa  d  to  see  them.  They 
weren't  forced;  they  didn't  have  to  see  them;  they  just  came 
because  he  was  a  good  purveyor  of  amusements.  He's  got 
money,  but  he's  giving  hundreds  of  people  decent  employ- 
ment, and  every  one  of  them  respects  and  admires  him.  No, 
the  only  excuse  for  robbing  the  Gresham  Theatre  lay  in  the 
fact  that  the  money  was  there  and  that  it  was  easy  to  get, 


THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN  137 

and  if  you  ever  steer  me  up  against  a  proposition  like  that 
again,  I'll  punch  your  head,  George  le  Fay." 

Seeing  that  Axtell  was  on  the  point  of  an  outbreak,  Hilary 
had  crossed  to  his  side  and  whispered  to  him: 

"Go  slow,  dear  old  chap;  don't  forget  —  philanthropy 
is  the  racket.    Take  his  end  of  it;  give  George  hell!" 

Axtell  quieted  down  under  the  common-sense  arguments 
of  Hilary;  but  it  was  a  moment  or  so  before  he  could  com- 
pose himself  suflSciently  to  speak  in  the  lofty,  detached 
manner  he  affected  when  seeking  to  convince  Stephen. 

"Stephen  is  quite  right,  George,"  he  said  sternly.  "You 
should  have  made  fuller  investigation.  It  turns  out  that 
this  man,  Morris,  is  not  the  sort  of  man  we  wish  to  harm." 

"But  the  syndicate  and " 

"Yes,  I  quite  understand,  George,  how  you  came  to  make 
the  error,"  agreed  The  Wolf,  catching  his  eye  and  winking 
hard.  "But  you  must  be  more  careful  in  the  future.  But 
you,  Stephen,  must  remember  that  we  only  take  from  these 
millionaires  that  the  poor  may  benefit  thereby.  This 
Morris  cannot  use  a  million  dollars  as  beneficially  as  we 
could." 

"If  I  were  quite  sure,  Mr.  Axtell,"  said  Stephen,  fixing 
his  eye  first  on  Le  Fay  and  then  on  Hilary,  "  that  the  other 
members  of  the  company  used  their  money  as  I  use  mine  — 
in  charity  —  I  would  be  better  pleased.  Of  course,  you  all 
say  you  do,  but  then  every  one  of  you  refuses  to  contribute 
a  cent  to  any  scheme  that  I  recommend  and  I  never  hear 
of  any  donations  you  make  except  from  you  yourselves." 

"  Every  man  has  a  right  to  contribute  to  the  charity  that 
pleases  him  most,"  explained  Axtell,  choking  back  his  wrath. 


138  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"You  have  never  been  appointed  general  almoner  for  your 
friends,  you  know.     Don't  be  unreasonable,  Stephen!" 

"I'm  not  unreasonable.  I'm  sincerely  trying  to  carry 
out  the  principles  you've  inculcated  in  me  ever  since  I 
can  remember.  Why,  I  can  recall  sitting  on  that  old  hassock 
over  there  when  I  was  a  kid  and  having  you  show  me  that 
the  only  excuse  Robin  Hood  and  those  fellows  had  for 
stealing  was  that  they  took  money  from  selfish  people  and 
helped  those  who  needed  it." 

"And  have  I  ever  gone  back  on  those  principles,  boy?" 

"Not  exactly,  but  there's  an  atmosphere  I'm  beginning  to 
dislike  about  our  calculations.  It  seems  somehow  as  though 
we  were  getting  like  the  very  people  we're  fighting  against 
—  greedy  for  money,  envious  of  every  rich  man  we  see. 
I'm  not  fighting  against  wealth.  I  know  plenty  of  rich 
men  who  are  fine,  square  fellows  and  who  go  about  helping 
their  fellow-men  whenever  they  can  —  men  like  this  Morris. 
It  annoys  me  to  think  we  ever  planned  to  steal  from  him  — 
makes  me  feel  no  better  than  those  common  'yeggs*  who 
crack  a  post-office  safe  or  rob  the  till  of  some  poor 
groceryman." 

"Dear  old  chap,  listen,"  urged  Hilary  suavely.  "We're 
not  combating  you;  a  mistake  has  been  made,  that's  all; 
and  I'm  sure  George  will  apologize." 

"Oh,  I  apologize  all  right,"  said  Le  Fay  ungraciously. 
"1*11  know  better  next  time." 

He  exchanged  meaning  glances  with  Axtell. 

"But,  at  the  same  time,  Stephen,"  Hilary  went  on,  "you 
mustn't  get  the  idea  that  just  because  a  man  is  honest  in 
his  business  details  and  contributes  to  a  few  charities  that 


THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN  139 

he  is  necessarily  exempt  from  our  attentions.  Y'see,  dear 
old  chap,  under  existing  circumstances,  a  man  may  treat 
his  employes  generously,  and  still  steal  from  them  while 
keeping  to  the  strict  letter  of  the  law,  and  even  going  a  little 
further  even  than  that." 

"I  don't  follow  you,  Hilary.  If  a  man  is  honest  and 
square  and  is  clever  enough  to  make  millions " 

"Ah,  but  dear  old  chap,  you  don't  just  get  the  angle. 
Are  great  business  men  cleverer  than  great  artists,  great 
composers,  great  generals,  or  great  writers?    Eh,  what.?" 

**  Certainly  not.  Business  ability,  to  my  mind,  is  inferior 
to  any  of  the  talents  you  have  mentioned." 

"Ah,  quite  right.  Now  follow  me  closely  —  closely, 
d'you  mind!" 

Stephen  nodded,  and,  putting  both  palms  under  his  chin, 
supported  his  head  in  a  manner  familiar  to  all  present  — 
for  this  was  the  attitude  of  his  perplexed  boyhood  —  and 
gazed  intently  at  his  supposed  avuncular  relative. 

"Now,  here  we  are,  five  men.  For  the  sake  of  argument, 
let  us  assume  that  Van  Tromp  writes,  George  is  a  great 
pianist,  I  am  a  noted  sculptor,  Morgy  a  victorious  general, 
Axtell  a  wonderful  legislator,  while  you  are  a  man  with  a 
head  for  figures.     Got  that,  eh?" 

Stephen  nodded. 

"Well,  we  form  a  club,  d'you  see?  —  a  club.  Now  all  the 
rest  of  us  have  our  work  to  do  for  our  art's  sake  and  for  the 
sake  of  humanity  in  general;  so  we  can't  stop  to  bother  about 
our  monetary  affairs.  So,  dear  old  chap,  we  come  to  you 
and  say:  *Now,  old  boy,  we'll  send  you  all  our  money  and 
we  want  you   to  look  after  it  for    us  and  make  invest- 


140  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

ments  and  do  things;  d'you  follow  me?  Thanks,  I  rather 
imagined  you  would.  You  see,  you're  our  treasurer. 
Now  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  invest  the  money  that  we  create 
—  that  is  to  say,  practically  we  create  it,  because  everybody 
wants  us  to  do  something  for  them  and  when  we  do  it,  they 
pay  us.  Now  is  there  any  reason  why  you  —  who  only  look 
after  our  money  —  should  make  ten  times  as  much  as  we 
do?    Eh?" 

"No,  I  —  I  suppose  not,"  answered  Stephen.  "It 
doesn't  seem  so,  does  it?" 

"And  yet  you  do.  A  great  business  man  makes  from  ten 
to  a  thousand  times  as  much  as  a  great  man  in  any  other 
occupation,  for  the  simple  reason  that  great  men  generally 
want  to  attend  to  something  else  besides  figures.  In  other 
words,  we  make  the  business  men  our  treasurers  and  they 
cheat  us,  because  they  take  what  we  have  to  sell  and,  figuring 
the  market  on  that  particular  thing,  get  more  for  it  than  we 
could  get  —  and  pocket  the  difference  themselves.  In 
other  words,  they  get  absolutely  all  they  can  get,  whereas 
we,  after  we  have  done  these  things  for  the  pure  love  of 
doing  them,  find  pecuniary  compensation  a  secondary 
consideration  and  don't  bother  much  about  it.  They,  on 
the  other  hand,  create  nothing,  and  exist  simply  by  selling 
what  we  create  for  more  than  we  could  get.  Now  we  don't 
suffer  by  this, because  we  get  all  we  want;  but  somebody  must 
suffer.  Who  then?  Why  the  people  who  buy,  of  course. 
In  other  words,  the  business  man  cheats  the  buyer  out  of  the 
difference  between  what  we  receive  and  what  the  people  pay 
for  our  creation.     D'you  see,  dear  old  boy?" 

"Why,  yes,  of  course,"  answered  Stephen  thoughtfully. 


THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN  141 

"I  do  see.  In  other  words,  the  business  man  should  be 
reduced  to  the  level  of  a  hired  employe.  We  should  not 
permit  him  to  sell  higher  than  we  wish  and  should  pay 
him  a  salary  for  attending  to  our  aflfairs,  instead  of  which 
he  takes  advantage  of  our  lack  of  knowledge  of  figures  and 
makes  us  his  servants  as  well  as  the  public." 

"Quite  right,"  said  Axtell  venomously.  "Therefore,  no 
matter  how  honest  he  is  in  his  dealings,  he  is  existing  merely 
because  he  has  the  faculty  of  preying  on  others." 

"Oh,  no,  not  quite,"  objected  Stephen.  "The  great 
organizers,  the  wonderful  executives  —  they  are  not  neces- 
sarily preyers;  they  fulfil  their  functions,  often,  quite 
honestly  —  as  honestly  as  existing  conditions  will  allow.  Mr. 
Carnegie,  for  instance,  with  his  cooperative  schemes " 

"Ah,  yes,  dear  old  chap,"  agreed  Hilary.  "That  is  some- 
thing like;  give  the  man  who  works  for  you  a  working  share 
in  your  business,  so  that  when  your  profits  increase,  his 
increase  with  them,  and,  if  they  decrease,  he  will  fight  as 
hard  as  you  will  to  keep  the  depression  off.  That  is  the 
solution." 

"And  that  is  my  creed,"  said  Stephen,  his  face  lighting 
up.  "That  is  what  I  would  do,  if  I  had  money,  just  to 
prove  how  feasible  it  is.  It  is  the  key  to  the  whole  situation; 
we  always  get  back  to  it  —  kindness  and  simplicity.  Mean- 
while," he  sighed,  "we  have  still  enough  real  thieves  in  the 
world  to  cope  with  without  bothering  the  so-called  honest 
business  man.  Let's  pick  out  one  of  the  robber  barons  and 
teach  him  a  severe  lesson;  let's  show  him  that  we  are  as 
able  to  steal  as  he  is.  Don't  try  to  make  it  easy  for  me.  Show 
me  the  man  who  deserves  punishment:     I  don't  care  for  the 


142  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

risk.  With  our  brains  and  my  technical  knowledge,  I 
could  enter  the  Bank  of  England  with  guards  at  every  door. 
Don't  try  to  spare  me.  I'm  always  ready  to  risk  my  neck. 
If  I  wasn't,  there'd  be  no  glory  to  my  adventures;  they 
would  just  be  common  thefts  a  little  more  skilfully  executed. 
I  like  to  feel  as  though  I'd  done  something  that  was  brave 
as  well  as  good.  Pick  me  out  a  hardened  robber,  gentlemen ! " 

So  intent  had  the  others  been  upon  him  —  for  when 
Stephen  Adams  spoke,  there  was  a  sparkle  in  his  eye,  a 
colour  in  his  cheek,  a  mysterious  magnetism  of  personality 
that  demanded  and  held  attention  —  that  they  had  not 
noticed  old  Van  Tromp  trembling  with  suppressed  ex- 
citement —  so  much  so  that  he  forgot  his  fear  of  Axtell, 
and,  flattening  his  withered  palms  against  the  arm  rests  of 
his  chair,  levitated  himself  and  slid  to  the  floor,  advancing 
from  the  shadows  into  the  light  cast  by  the  electric  lamp 
and  placing  both  hands  on  the  table,  his  snow-white  hair 
tumbling  into  his  eyes,  his  toothless  jaws  working  in  a  frenzy 
of  excitement. 

"I'll  pick  ye  one,  Stevey,  boy  —  old  Trompy  what  taught 
you  all  about  all  the  little  wheels  that  went  round  and 
round — you  know  Trompy  knows,  Stevey,  boy.    You " 

"Idiot!  Imbecile!"  yelled  Axtell.  "Knock  him  down, 
Hilary.  Kick  the  old  pig.  Oh!  if  I  only  had  the  use  of 
my  arms!     If  I " 

With  an  effort  that  caused  him  actual,  griping  pain,  he 
managed  to  secure  the  poker,  but  immediately  dropped  it. 
It  clattered  back  on  the  hearth.  Stephen,  so  interested  in 
the  old  man's  speech  that  he  had  not  heard  Axtell,  was  an- 
noyed by  the  sound  of  the  poker's  fall  —  and  made  an  im- 


THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN  143 

patient  movement  that  requested  silence;  and  Hilary 
Quackenbos  again  found  it  necessary  to  cross  and  quiet 
The  Wolf.  As  for  Van  Tromp  himself,  even  had  he  been 
struck,  his  fanaticism  on  this  point,  his  one  burning  hatred, 
was  such  that  not  even  pain  would  have  mattered. 

"Go  on,  Trorapy!" 

The  use,  by  Van  Tromp,  of  the  diminutive,  for  Stephen 
as  a  little  boy  had  been  responsible  for  all  the  shortenings 
of  names  —  'Steveys,'  'Morgys,'  and  the  like  —  had  soft- 
ened Stephen's  attitude  to  the  old  grocer  whom,  even  as  a 
child,  he  had  not  particularly  liked. 

"Yes?  Trompy  knows  —  he  knows,  Stevey.  He  knew 
all  about  the  little  wheels  that  went  round  and  round  and 
he  knew  all  about  sugars  and  teas  and  spices  —  the  sich 
as  Mr.  Axtell  himself  used  to  buy  and  as  he  knows  I  always 
had  the  finest." 

His  poor  old  wandering  wits  became  suddenly  disturbed 
by  a  picture  of  the  old  store  on  the  corner,  with  the  japanned 
tin  boxes  that  had  held  the  spices  of  which  he  spoke;  and  a 
deep  wrinkle  in  his  seared  face  became  the  bed  of  a  rivulet. 
Then  another  and  yet  another  filled  until  his  face  was  quite 
wet.  He  put  a  fleshless  hand  to  his  face  —  a  hand  ingrained 
with  the  dirt  of  years  —  and  dabbed  at  his  burning  eyes. 

"Out  of  the  mouths  of  babes  and  sucklings  he  took  it, 
which  the  Good  Book  says  ain't  to  be  done  under  no  cir- 
cumstances —  and  who  is  he  to  set  himself  up  again  the 
Good  Book  —  which  is  read  by  me  faithful,  Stevey,  every 
Sunday,  every  Sunday,  even  though  Mr.  Axtell  won't  git 
me  no  glasses  to  read  it  with " 

"Horrible  ass,"  snarled  Axtell.     Push  him  away,  Steve!" 


144  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"The  same  old  Janissary  stuff,"  said  Morgenstein  wearily. 
"  We  ought  to  put  him  out  of  the  room  when  we  have  a  con- 
fab.    He   gits  on  my  nerves.     He  must  dream  Janissary." 

The  old  man  threw  the  white  hair  from  his  eyes,  which 
for  the  moment  were  lit  by  a  fierce  gleam. 

"Janissary  —  *Big  Steve,'  was  what  they  called  him  when 
you  were  'Little  Steve.'  But  you're  'Big  Steve'  now  — 
bigger'n  him.  Not  Duress  —  don't  believe  Duress  —  he's 
nobody.  You  go  after  him  that  piles  it  up  and  piles  it 
wp,  Stevey  —  or  are  you  afeared  of  Satan  'cause  Satan's 
his  bosom  friend?  If  you  ain't  afeared,  go  after  Stephen 
Janissary,  Stevey,  and  git  an  old  man's  blessing  —  a  very 
old  man,  Stevey,  that  he  couldn't  let  have  his  little  store 
what  he  kept  fer  forty  year.  Not  Duress  —  don't  believe 
Duress;  go  after  Stephen  Janissary!" 

His  strength  failed,  and  he  would  have  fallen  if  Stephen 
had  not  risen  and  caught  him  and  led  him  back  to  his  chair 
by  the  fireplace,  where  Axtell  scowled  at  him. 

"Imbecile  pig!"  said  Axtell,  grinning  viciously.  "Wait 
until  I  lay  my  hands  on  you " 

"You  couldn't  get  into  Janissary's  house  with  a  crow- 
bar," commented  George  le  Fay.  "We'd  get  a  tumble  as 
sure  as  you're  bom  —  at  least  you  would,  Stephen." 

"I'll  take  the  chance.     'Sound'  it!" 

There  was  an  emphatic  chorus  of  protest  from  all  others 
except  Van  Tromp,  who,  weak  as  he  was,  managed  to  rub 
together  his  crackling  hands. 

"Dear  old  chap,  why  take  unnecessary  risks?  We  don't 
even  know  that  it's  worth  while." 

"That's  ridiculous,"  averred  Stephen  coolly.     "All  the 


THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN  145 

world  knows  that  Janissary  has  one  hobby,  one  weakness 
—  his  passion  for  carved  stones.  He  must  have  half  a  mil- 
lion's worth  somewhere  in  his  house." 

"Carved  stones!"  echoed  Morgenstein  in  fine  contempt. 
"Yes,  you  mean  he's  paid  half  a  million  for  them;  but  how 
much  could  we  get  ?  He's  got  emeralds  and  rubies  and  sap- 
phires and  topazes  and  Gawd  knows  how  many  more  — 
they'd  be  worth  a  fortune  uncarved;  but,  carved,  they're 
only  valuable  to  a  collector,  for  they're  in  every  jewel 
catalogue  in  the  world,  with  histories  as  long  as  a  Hot 
Springs  drug  bill.  You  can't  cut  'em  up  because  bits  of  the 
carving  spoil  'em,  and,  even  if  you  did,  their  value  is 
mostly  in  their  size." 

"Don't  be  absurd,  Morgy,"  replied  Stephen.  "We'll 
send  you  on  a  trip  to  India.  Those  Maharajahs  started  the 
fashion  in  carving  stones  and  they'll  pay  pretty  nearly  what 
they're  worth.  Besides,  some  of  them  have  histories  that 
make  them  valuable  to  Gsekwars  and  tribal  chiefs  of  that 
sort.  With  half  a  million's  worth  in  your  possession  it's 
worth  making  a  trip  to  India  for." 

Morgenstein  considered,  and  presently  nodded. 

"I'm  a  mangy  pup,  if  I  don't  believe  the  youngster's 
right,  boys!  Half  those  hock-rocks  were  stolen  from  Indian 
princes!  They'd  pay  a  pretty  penny  to  git  them  back,  and, 
best  of  all,  they  wouldn't  ask  no  questions.  It  would  take 
time  to  dispose  of  'em,  that's  all." 

"Half  a  million's  worth  taking  time  over,  isn't  it?" 
queried  Stephen.  "Why,  the  Vaughan  jewels  are  valued 
at  a  quarter  million  and  we'll  be  lucky  if  we  clear  a  him- 
dred  thousand  from  them  by  the  time  you  cut  them  up, 


146  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

Morgy,  and  take  your  trips  around  to  dispose  of  them.  The 
beauty  about  those  carved  stones  is  that  they  don't  have  to 
be  cut  up." 

He  turned  back  the  lapel  of  his  coat,  a  lapel  bearing  a 
button  that  looked  like  the  insignia  of  a  decoration,  the 
hidden  side  a  small  watch  —  the  very  latest  thing  in  watches 
and  Decima's  present  on  his  birthday  —  and  observed  that 
it  was  already  past  the  hour  he  had  set  for  arriving  at  his 
apartment.     He  began  to  draw  on  his  gloves. 

"Well,  that's  my  next  trick,"  he  said  placidly;  "so  get 
to  work,  George,  and  try  to  give  me  a  working  knowledge 
of  the  inside  of  the  Janissary  house  as  soon  as  you  can. 
It  shouldn't  be  difficult;  it's  an  old  house  without  any 
new  tricks  for  disconcerting  burglarious  gentlemen." 

"Yes,"  agreed  Greorge  heavily,  "and  it  is  also  a  detached 
house,  which  makes  it  impossible  for  us  to  use  the  trick  we 
did  with  half  of  the  others." 

"Oh,  the  game  would  lose  its  interest  if  it  always  worked 
out  according  to  rules,"  laughed  Stephen.  "Send  me  a 
check  for  seven  thousand  five  hundred  to-morrow,  Mr. 
Axtell.  I've  made  some  promises  I'll  have  to  fulfil  this 
week.  Well,  good  night,  fellows.  You  know  my  *phone 
number  if  you  want  me.    So  long!" 

He  took  up  his  top  hat  and  stick  and  went  out.  Axtell 
gave  vent  to  his  feelings  in  a  manner  that,  had  he  heard, 
would  effectually  have  cured  Stephen  of  any  belief  in  his 
better  nature. 

"Don't,  dear  old  chap,"  urged  Hilary.  "You  are  quite 
too  bad  at  times.  Besides,  we  should  remember  —  every 
one  of  us  —  that  we  were  never  one  quarter  as  prosperous 


THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN  147 

as  we  have  been  since  he  first  began  to  work.  He  takes 
chances  that  no  other  burglar  in  the  country  would  dare 
take;  and,  besides,  it's  like  a  circus  acrobat  or  a  ballet  dancer 
—  unless  they're  taken  in  hand  when  they're  children, 
they  always  bungle.  Stephen  has  technical  skill  that 
is  simply  marvellous,  almost  magical.  He  is  a  positive 
genius,  'pon  honour,  he  is  —  the  bally  Napoleon  of 
cracksmen." 

"Oh,  can  that  sucker  talk,  Hil!"  growled  George  le  Fay, 
relapsing  into  the  vernacular  with  the  exit  of  Stephen. 
"Say  a 'house  man*  or  a 'sneak'  or  a  'second-story'  man 
or  a  'peteman'  —  anything  but  'cracksman.'  You  see 
that  in  novels  and  that's  about  the  only  place  where  you 
do  see  it." 

"  I'll  jolly  well  use  any  expression  I  like,  George,"  replied 
the  Englishman  stiffly.  "And,  'pon  honour,  dear  old  chap, 
that's  a  shocking  cravat  you're  wearing." 

George's  angry  reply  was  averted  by  Morgenstein's 
reflective  remark: 

"  Say,  who  was  that  guy  who  made  another  guy  —  some 
doctor  —  you  know  —  Frank  something " 

"Near  relative  of  yours,  Morgy,"  replied  Hilary.  "You 
mean  'Frankenstein,'  I  suppose." 

The  Jew  nodded. 

"Well,  you  remember,  after  he  made  him,  the  guy  was 
so  big  he  couldn't  handle  him  —  got  out  of  his  control  or 
something,  and  after  that  he  was  always  afraid  he'd  croak 
him?" 

"Everybody  knows  the  story  you're  talking  about," 
growled  Axtell.     "Whatever  it's  got  to  do  with  us,  get 


148  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

it  off  your  chest.  If  you're  just  romancing  along,  shut 
up  and  talk  about  business  or  else  get  out.  I'm  tired  of 
having  so  much  noise  here." 

"  Why  can't  you  see  the  —  the  —  whatever  it  is  —  be- 
tween that  Frankenstein  and  Stevey?" 

"Oh,  you  mean  'analogy',"  supplied  Hilary  superiorly. 
"Why,  not  at  all.  Stephen  is  perfectly  easy  to  manage. 
He's  like  the  cat;  you've  got  to  find  out  which  way  his  fur 
lies.  He's  a  sweet,  good-tempered  boy  and  sometimes,  on 
my  soul,  I  wish  I  were  like  him.  D'you  know,  I've  actually 
given  away  quite  a  bit  of  money  through  listening 
to  him?" 

"Oh,  you're  full  of  hop,"  said  George  rudely.  "You 
always  get  very  philanthropic  with  a  few  pills  in  you." 

"I  keep  thinking  of  that  Frankenstein  fellow,"  complained 
the  Jew,  slipping  into  his  Astrakhan-collared,  fur-lined  coat. 
"Every  now  and  then  I  wake  up  dreaming  that  Franken- 
stein is  looking  in  at  the  window  —  Gee!  that's  a  horrible 
thought  —  and  somehow  I  can't  seem  to  get  it  out  of  my 
head.  If  Stephen  ever  finds  out  we're  nothing  but  a  lot 
of  grafters,  always  looking  for  the  best  of  it  and  using  all 
those  noble  sentiments  for  a  stall  to  get  him  to  put  his  fingers 
in  the  fire  for  us,  he'll  about  tear  up  a  lamp  post  and  beat 
us  all  to  death.  Those  good-natured  fellows  like  Stephen  are 
always  like  that  when  they  get  sore,  and  he's  got  no  fear 
and  would  tackle  an  army  with  a  bean-shooter  if  somebody 
told  him  it  was  his  duty.  Sometimes  I  feel  kind  a  sorry 
I'm  not  like  him  myself.  He's  a  grand  little  fellow, 
Stephen   is." 

"Typical    sucker!"    said    George    le    Fay.     "Typical' 


THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN  149 

Stephen  gives  me  a  pain.  Did  you  hear  that  boob  talk  about 
Morris?  Gee!  I  wanted  to  crown  him  with  a  cuspidor- 
It's  pretty  tough  when  a  lot  of  wise  ones  have  to  take  their 
orders  from  a  simp  like  him." 

The  Jew  paused  at  the  door.  Circumstances,  rather  than 
desire,  had  placed  him  outside  the  law.  Persecution  in 
Russia,  police  tyranny  in  America,  sudden  anger  against 
one  of  "the  force"  and  an  exhibition  of  superior  strength, 
had  given  him  six  months  on  the  Island,  a  'tough  rep,'  and 
placed  his  picture  in  the  Rogues'  Gallery,  a  creature  at  the 
mercy  of  every  policeman  who  wanted  to  make  a  record. 
Since  that  time  he  had  sinned  daringly  and  with  cunning, 
and  he  sincerely  admired  men  of  courage. 

"Pretty  soft  for  you,  George,  who  never  took  a  chance  in 
your  life,  to  be  mixed  up  with  a  regular  king  of  crooks  like 
Stevey.  If  you  weren't  so  damned  common,  you'd  respect 
him  and,  sometimes,  fear  him,  as  I  do  —  a  man  with 
some  brains." 

He  went  out.  George  snatched  up  his  hat  and  followed 
him,  to  continue  the  argument. 

"A  Frankenstein?"  said  Hilary  slowly.  "I  wonder 
—  Axtell!" 

"Oh!  take  that  talk  outside." 

"A  Frankenstein,  eh,  dear  old  chap?  .  .  .  We  must 
be  careful;  yes,  deucedly  careful.     Morgy's  right!" 

He  also  took  his  departure,  thoughtfully.  Left  alone, 
Axtell  eyed  the  drowsing  Van  Tromp,  and,  by  moving  his 
chair  little  by  little,  finally,  in  the  course  of  the  next  quarter- 
hour,  brought  it  close  enough  to  stretch  out  his  hand  and 
pinch  the  other  viciously.    Van  Tromp  awoke  with  a  little 


150  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

scream  to  see  the  other  glaring  at  him,  hateful  sin  incarnate ! 
So  they  sat  and  the  long  hours  began  to  drag  their  way 
again. 


IV 


AT   CANARY  S 

Hot-house  flowers,  lilting  music,  and  soft  lights! 

Ah,  those  lights!  As  unique  as  is  its  curious  canape  are 
Canary's  candelabra  —  copper-wrought,  burnished  to  a 
semblance  of  dull  gold,  the  electric  candles  cunningly  con- 
trived to  give  the  appearance  of  waxen  tapers  as  slim  as 
the  fingers  of  beautiful  women,  and  hung  with  transparent 
silk  gauze,  canary-coloured  —  four  score  or  more  of  these 
candelabra,  and  mirrors  set  in  white  wall  panels  reflect 
their  doubles,  trebles,  and  quadruples. 

All  sorts  come  to  Canary's.  Gray-haired  gentlemen, 
dining  modestly  on  what  still  remains  from  the  sale  of  their 
lands  that  their  many  times  great-grandsires  bought  for 
beads  and  whiskey;  next  to  them  rather  recent  individuals, 
risen  to  the  height  of  dining  at  Canary's  through  defrauding 
the  descendants  of  the  beads-and-whiskey-barterers,  dicus- 
sing  terrapin  and  rare  vintage  wines :  the  specific  antitheses 
are  typical;  at  one  time  or  other  may  be  found  at  Canary's 
all  who  bear  the  stamp  of  caste  cheek  by  jowl  with  the 
coveters  of  the  iron  that  brands  a  crest.  Pauperized  patri- 
cians allowing  oily  outsiders  to  pay  for  dinners  to  which 
they  are  accustomed  but  cannot  afford;  gormandizing 
Gentiles  with  generous  Jews;  Anglicized  Americans  sign- 


THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN  151 

ing  checks  for  fawning  foreigners.  All  sorts,  yes,  but  seldom 
an  individual. 

Stephen  Adams  paused  for  a  moment  at  the  door  of  the 
restaurant;  the  people  in  it,  somehow,  impressed  him  as 
being  very  tired.  He  saw  amid  the  crowd  many  whom  he 
knew  would  welcome  him  at  their  tables,  but  he  shuddered 
at  the  thought  of  their  forced  gayety.  They  were  all  pre- 
tending, all  unreal;  even  their  laughs  rang  hollow.  How 
different  that  girl  he  had  left  in  dignified  old  Washington 
Square  a  few  hours  before,  the  thought  of  whose  kiss  was  to 
be  banished  from  his  mind  in  such  an  atmosphere.  He 
wanted  to  be  alone  with  the  memory  of  it. 

The  gilded  cage  shot  upward  and  left  him  at  the  seventh 
floor.  About  the  whole  place  was  an  aggressive  air  of  ex- 
pensiveness:  doors  that  proclaimed  the  solidity  of  their 
mahogany  by  too  bright  a  varnish;  brass  letters  and  numbers 
too  conspicuous;  marble  floors  too  slippery;  decorations  too 
ornate.  Money  had  been  spent  with  a  lavish  hand,  and  the 
proprietor  was  determined  that  those  who  paid  should 
recognize  value  received. 

Stephen  selected  a  key  from  among  the  various  golden 
trinkets  on  the  end  of  a  chain,  but,  as  he  was  about  to  fit  it 
in  the  lock  of  apartment  72,  the  door  was  opened  from 
within  and  Rag,  still  clad  immaculately  in  the  garb  of  an 
upper  servant,  stood  framed  against  a  background  of  soft 
lights  that  emanated  from  bulbs  cunningly  hidden  in  drop 
lights  of  Japanese  beaten  glass  and  Bohemian  coloured  vases. 
His  presence  surprised  Stephen;  since  becoming  respectable 
Rag  generally  retired  before  midnight. 

He  closed  the  door  behind  Stephen  and  touched  his  shoulder. 


152  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"  Say,  Steve,  I  jest  grabbed  a  bit  of  information  for  myself. 
Set  down,  I  want  tub  tell  yuh." 

It  was  quite  a  different  person  from  tbe  deferential  "  Ed- 
ward"; this  was  the  old  companion  of  Stephen's  boyhood, 
the  ardent  admirer  and  devoted  friend  who  served  him  in  a 
menial  capacity  only  because  so  magnificent  a  gentleman 
as  Stephen  must  have  a  servant  and  servants  who  could  be 
trusted  were  hard  to  find. 

"Play  something  for  me.  Rag,"  said  Stephen  wearily  as 
he  sank  into  a  quaint  mahogany  bed  rocker,  tapestried  in 
old  rose  that  matched  the  walls.  "You  know,  you  wicked, 
red-headed  sinner,  you're  responsible  for  my  degenerate 
taste  in  music.  Here  I've  been  sitting  through  a  magnif- 
icent thing  like  'Falstaff'  and  not  enjoying  one  little  bit 
of  it.  Miss  Duress  understood  it  and  got  all  sorts  of  pleasure 
while  I  was  bored.  You're  to  blame  for  that  with  your 
confounded  rag-time  songs.  I  was  brought  up  on  them, 
that's  the  trouble.  As  far  back  as  I  can  remember,  all  my 
songs  have  been  rag-time." 

"But,  listen,  Stevey,  there's  a  'rap'  out  for  you." 

"Now,  Rag,  don't  bother  me.  Haven't  I  asked  you  to 
play  for  me?  I  want  to  hear  some  music  I  can  enjoy.  Isn't 
it  terrible  to  think  that  you  have  to  be  David  to  my  Saul? 
Play  some  pretty  rag-time.  I  have  some  rather  nice  things 
to  think  about.  Go  on.  Rag,  I  say !  What  a  pity  they  don't 
build  fireplaces  in  these  high-priced  places  —  those  blooming 
gas  logs  make  you  so  tired  —  they're  so  near  and  yet  so 
far  from  the  real  thing,  so  ordered  and  mechanical,  no 
surprises  —  like  life  without  any  adventure.  Play  some- 
thing. Rag." 


THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN  153 

O'Brien  passed  his  bauds  over  red  hair  parted  smoothly 
in  the  middle,  and  sat  down  to  the  piano.  In  a  sort  of 
weird  handling  of  syncopated  music  he  had  a  certain  genius, 
for  he  very  seldom  followed  any  particular  tune  or  time. 
Scraps  of  opera,  opera  comique,  musical  comedy,  folk  and 
street  songs,  were  mingled  together  in  a  melange  that  had 
almost  a  kinship  to  the  works  of  Debussey  in  its  lack  of 
any  half-notes  —  like  a  Chinese  monotone  in  a  hurry. 
Also  Rag  had  a  peculiarity,  resulting  from  telepathic  kin- 
ship with  Stephen,  of  always  playing  the  sort  of  things  that 
suited  Stephen's  particular  mood. 

"Rag-time,"  continued  Stephen,  as  Rag  played,  "do  you 
know,  I  rather  think  I've  discovered  why  I  like  it  so  well? 
It's  this  New  York  life  —  that's  rag-time  if  you  like  —  the 
quick  changes,  the  sudden  turns  of  the  wheel  of  fortime. 
Take  the  people  down  stairs  —  chorus  girls  living  on  Fifth 
Avenue;  Knickerbockers  lucky  if  they  can  pay  for  a  flat 
in  the  Bronx,  the  waiter  owning  real  estate  and  the  patron 
wondering,  when  he  pays  for  the  meal  and  tip,  whether 
they'll  throw  out  his  account  at  the  bank  because  it's  gone 
too  low;  society  men  selling  champagne;  champagne  pro- 
prietors trying  to  sell  enough  of  it  to  buy  their  way  into 
society;  rich  women  going  on  the  stage;  actresses  trying  to 
be  recognized  by  rich  women;  the  wise  men  pretending  to 
be  fools  in  order  to  amuse;  the  fools  putting  on  all  the  airs 
of  wise  men;  the  race-track  gambler  with  his  few  hundreds 
of  winnings  opening  wine  to-night  and  breakfasting  on 
wheat-cakes  and  a  five  cent  cup  of  coffee  to-morrow  — 
that's  the  key-note  of  New  York  —  a  longing  to  be  other 
than  you  are  —  and  that's  rag-time,  eh?" 


154  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"You  could  preach  a  sermon  over  a  burnt  match  or  the 
butt  of  a  cigarette,  Stephen,"  commented  Rag,  wheeling 
around  in  his  chair.  "And  now  you've  got  that  off  your 
chest,  I  wanta  tell  yuh  somethin'.  There's  a  'stiff'  out 
for  you  from  McGuimp's  gang.  I  met  one  of  their  up-town 
bunch  in  Dockerty's  and  he  told  me.  Don't  go  out  of  the 
house  'til  I've  gone  down  and  squared  it  with  McGuimp. 
They're  an  awful  gang  of  murderers  an'  if  they  git  you  there 
won't  be  nothin'  done  to  them  —  they're  too  well  protected." 

"McGuimp,  eh?"  said  Stephen,  pausing  in  the  act 
of  removing  his  patent-leather  pumps;  he  had  already 
divested  himself  of  coat  and  waistcoat  and  slipped  into  a 
velvet  smoking  jacket. 

"Sure  thing,  'Chicken*  McGuimp.  His  men  have  got 
orders  to  git  you  and  lay  you  up  in  the  hospital  fer  a  couple 
of  months  —  you  know  how  it's  done;  I  told  you  when 
you  was  a  kid.  One  of  them'll  push  you,  you'll  push  him 
back,  an  argument'll  start  and  the  first  thing  you  know 
yuh're  laid  out  with  a  jack.  What  'uhve  you  ever  done  to 
McGuimp,  Steve?" 

"McGuimp?  why,  nothing,"  answered  Stephen  reflec- 
tively. "But  you  can  bet  your  boots  I  will  do  something 
if  he  starts  after  me." 

"Oh,  nix  on  that,  Steve,  you  don't  know  what  you're 
talking  about.  Those  fellows'd  drop  you  jest  t'  see  which 
way  you  fell.  They  ain't  got  no  hearts  nur  nuthin' ;  they're 
jest  desperate  murderers  an'  they  got  all  the  protection  in 
New  York.  So  you  jest  stick  in  here  'till  I've  seen  some  of 
the  gang  and  squared  it  with  McGuimp.     Will  you?  " 

Stephen  did  not  answer.    A  look  of  apprehension  came 


THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN  155 

into  Rag's  eyes;  he  crossed  the  room  stealthily  and 
unhooked  Stephen's  pass  key  from  the  end  of  the  gold 
chain  that  now  lay  on  the  centre  table,  pocketing  it 
quickly. 

"Well,  good-night,  Steve.  I've  got  to  be  out  early  to- 
morrow t'  attend  tuh  that  matter  for  you  about  Betsy's 
findin'  a  new  place  tuh  live.  You  dunno  how  you  got  in 
bad  with  McGuimp,  do  you?" 

Stephen  nodded. 

"I've  got  an  idea.  Tell  you  about  it  to-morrow.  Don't 
bother  about  squaring  things  for  me,  Rag.  That  McGuimp 
gang  doesn't  worry  me  any." 

Patiently  O'Brien  went  back  to  his  argument: 

"Steve,  don't  be  a  sucker!  Those  felluhs  don't  fight 
on  the  square.  You  do.  So  what  chance  have  you  got  of 
gettin'  the  best  of  it.  Let  me  handle  this  thing.  When 
they  find  out  all  you've  done  for  the  gang,  they'll  call  in  their 
'stiff'.     I'll  square  it  all  right." 

Stephen  laughed. 

"Rag,  you  take  these  toughs  seriously.  That's  where 
they  always  win.  They  scare  people.  Now  they  don't 
scare  me  in  the  least;  all  a  man  has  got  to  do  is  to  show  them 
that.  If  nothing  else  worried  me  I'd  be  all  right.  Rag. 
Good  night." 

He  walked  to  the  window  and  pushed  aside  the  heavy 
portieres,  standing  with  a  bit  of  lace  draping  in  each  hand 
and  staring  out  at  lights  that  gleamed  from  the  building 
beneath  him  —  a  monarch  surveying  his  kingdom.  Out- 
side, the  snow  had  taken  hold  of  sUpp)ery  Fifth  Avenue, 
and  a  whimsical  wind  hurled  it  against  Canary's  brocade- 


156  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

hung  windows.  Waiting  cabs,  landaus,  and  motor  vehicles 
were  flake  festooned,  and  their  drivers  stamped  up  and 
down  the  curbing,  slapping  their  bodies  into  warmth.  Ste- 
phen essayed  a  smile  at  the  clowning  of  one  of  them;  but 
it  was  a  smile  of  the  lips  only.     His  eyes  were  sad. 

He  fumbled  in  his  trousers'  pockets  and  brought  out  a 
bit  of  lace  and  cambric  that  exhaled  iris  —  the  scent  of  the 
delicately  bred  that  carried  with  it  the  remembrance  of  that 
kiss  in  Washington  Square. 

"Oh,  my  dear!"  he  said,  something  that  was  almost  a 
sob  escaping  him.     "Oh,  my  dear!" 

He  entered  his  dressing-room  and  turned  on  the  shaded 
lights  that  displayed  silver  brushes  and  toilet  articles  on 
the  mahogany  tab  e  beneath  them;  and,  opening  a  little 
drawer,  placed  the  handkerchief  in  safe  keeping.  Straight- 
ening his  tie  and  resuming  his  waistcoat  and  coat,  rejecting 
his  top  hat  which  he  had  worn  to  dinner  and  the  opera 
in  favour  of  a  soft  one,  he  slipped  into  his  fur-lined 
great  coat. 

Hesitating  a  moment  at  the  door,  he  came  back  to  his 
dressing-table  and  took  from  it  a  steel-blue  weapon.  Now 
he  turned  the  knob  of  the  door  and  found  it  locked.  He 
sought  the  aid  of  his  key  chain,  then  laughed. 

"  Dear  old  Rag,"  he  said  aloud.     "  How  silly." 

It  was  but  the  matter  of  a  moment  to  straighten  out  the 
curve  in  a  silver  button  hook  by  placing  it  in  a  crack  and 
closing  a  heavy  mahogany  door  against  it.  The  end,  now 
only  slightly  curved,  he  inserted  in  the  key-hole  and  felt 
for  the  lock;  several  times  he  missed  it  but  the  third  time 
the  tumbler  was  caught  and  turned  backward. 


THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN  157 

He  adjusted  the  catch  that  he  might  be  able  to  enter  on 
his  return,  and,  when  he  reached  the  street,  turned  up  the 
collar  of  his  great  coat  and  hailed  the  taxicab  rank, 

"First  out,"  echoed  the  taxicab  starter.  "Where 
to,  sir?" 

"  Great  Jones  Street,  just  off  the  Bowery,"  replied  Stephen, 
feeling  the  reassuring  touch  of  the  steel-blue  weapon  in  his 
pocket. 


THE   ASSASSINS 

There  had  been  imported  recently  a  dance  styled  "The 
Tokolo  Twirl"  which  had  spread  like  chicken-pox  through 
the  honkatonks  of  the  West  —  where  originate  most  of  such 
dances  and  the  executants  thereof  —  and  had  finally  reached 
Manhattan  to  be  received  with  acclaim  by  those  of  the 
East  Side,  briefly  described  by  up-town  bad  men  as  "dese, 
dose,  and  dem  guys";  the  quotation  referring  to  the  con- 
genital incapacity  of  the  East  Siders  to  master  the  pronun- 
ciation of  the  diphthong  th. 

The  dance  was  in  progress  now  at  McGuimp's,  a  glide, 
almost  a  walk,  supplemented  by  sudden  stoppage  of  the 
feet  and  a  sidewise  movement  of  the  shoulders.  The  noise 
of  ill-shod  feet  scraping  over  the  sanded  floor  rose  above  the 
notes  of  the  automatic  piano  which,  for  the  slight  temptation 
of  an  inserted  nickel,  provided  the  necessary  accompani- 
ment. The  gentlemen  took  no  chances  with  their  hats, 
only  making  their  deference  to  etiquette  by  tilting  them 


158  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

back  on  their  heads  instead  of  forward  on  their  noses  as 
was  their  usual  custom.  Mostly  they  wore  hard-boiled 
shirts,  originally  white,  creased  of  bosom,  unclean  of  cuffs; 
dark  clothes  of  no  particular  pattern;  derbies  on  which  dust 
had  been  allowed  to  accumulate  unheeded  since  leaving 
the  hatters,  and  what  they  were  pleased  to  term  "paddend- 
ledder"  shoes.  Their  female  companions'  tastes  ran  to 
plaids  in  shirt  waists,  hats  of  astounding  size  loaded  down 
with  blowsy  chiffon,  long  German-silver  chains  on  which 
hung  suspended  lockets  of  the  same  material  holding  a 
lock  of  hair  and  a  photograph,  very  tight  skirts,  and  high- 
laced  shoes  of  papier-mache  —  although  purchased  with  a 
touching  trust  in  human  nature  under  the  impression  that 
a  philanthropic  manufacturer  turned  out  leather  boots  for 
$1.98  the  pair. 

Certain  bulges  in  the  gentlemen's  clothes  were  not  due  to 
physical  defects.  Sometimes,  when  "Humpty"  Keegan, 
the  bartender,  had  no  more  remunerative  occupation,  he 
was  unfraternal  to  the  extent  of  wishing  that  a  cataclysmic 
disturbance  might  render  the  entire  "gang"  senseless  for 
a  period  long  enough  for  him  to  completely  "frisk  them" 
and  provide  his  little  home  in  Jersey  with  an  entire  new  set 
of  elegant  plumbing. 

But  those  carrying  lead-pipes  were  only  the  rank  and 
file  —  the  truckmen,  draymen,  and  expressmen,  who  worked 
honestly  by  day  and  found  the  aiding  of  dishonesty  only  an 
avocation.  The  trusted  lieutenants  of  Chicken  McGuimp, 
proprietor  of  "The  Gem,"  were  all  "'gunmen" — Big  Al, 
Nigger  Jake,  an  excessively  swarthy  gentleman  hailing 
from    Sicily,  Gas-House    Fred,  a  deserter  from    a    gang 


THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN  159 

farther  up  town  who  had  changed  his  residence  for  reasons 
best  not  discussed  in  his  presence;  Rats,  who  was  well- 
named,  many  declared,  being  suspected  of  "stooling  for 
the  coppers  and  swearing  many  a  right  guy  into  the  boob" 

—  and  others  with  decorative  and  descriptive  "monakers" 
distinguishing  them  from  the  common  herd  of  proletarian 
Jacks,  Bills,  and  Petes,  had  never  sunk  so  low 
in  their  own  estimation  as  to  believe  that  the  world  was  other 
than  a  place  made  expressly  for  the  purpose  of  supplying 
them  with  a  living  without  laboiu*.  Although  held  in  deepest 
fear  by  their  associates,  their  right  to  the  title  of  "gun  men" 
might  have  been  questioned  severely  by  Western  gentlemen 
who  witnessed  their  use  of  weapons,  for,  unless  they  were 
within  a  few  feet  of  their  foe,  they  were  more  likely  to  injure 
furniture  and  chandeliers  than  anything  else.  However,  as 
most  of  their  work  was  done  in  dark  places  —  from  behind 

—  with  the  butts  of  their  revolvers,  their  marksmanship 
had  little  to  do  with  their  murderous  ability. 

The  dance  concluded  and  as  no  one  donated  another 
nickel  to  the  insatiate  automatic,  the  "gang"  resumed  their 
seats  at  deal  tables  that  were  ringed  with  many  wet  glasses, 
and  most  of  them  observed  that  the  door-way  leading  to 
the  bar  was  blocked  by  the  bulk  of  a  very  tall  man  who,  with 
a  black  slouch  hat  pulled  over  his  eyes,  stood  watching  them 
with  some  interest.  Seeing,  however,  that  the  entertain- 
ment was  for  the  moment  suspended  and  the  dancers  were 
refreshing  themselves,  he  turned  from  the  door  to  "Humpty  " 
Keegan  and  asked  for  a  bottle  of  sarsparilla  —  his  only 
reason  for  so  doing  being  his  figuring  that  he  would  rather 
open  his  drink  with  his  own  hands. 


160  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"Give  you  beer,  whiskey,  gin,  brandy,  creme-dy-minty, 
and  ginger  ale,"  Humpty  informed  him  briefly. 

"Ginger  ale,"  directed  the  stranger. 

The  room  began  to  fill  with  men  who  wore  uncomfortable 
hats  if  one  might  judge  by  the  number  of  times  they  tools 
them  off,  wiped  the  inside  bands,  and  replaced  them  at  new 
angles.  The  appearance  of  a  man  in  a  fur  coat  and  of  a 
stature  so  commanding  as  Stephen  Adams  was  hardly  likely 
to  go  unnoticed  in  a  place  so  mean  as  Chicken  McGuimp's. 
and  when  he  reached  into  his  pocket  to  pay  for  his  refresh- 
ment, those  back  of  him  noticed  from  the  bar  mirror  that 
he  was  in  a  dress  seldom  seen  in  that  neighbourhood.  Two 
men  who  had  come  into  the  bar-room  now  left  it  by  the 
front  door,  outside  of  which  they  remained  in  case  of  emer- 
gencies. Unaccompanied  gentlemen  in  fur-lined  coats  and 
evening  dress  had  been  bonanzas  to  "The  Gem" 
before. 

Stephen  laid  a  half-dollar  on  the  bar. 

"Have  a  drink?"  he  suggested  smilingly. 

"I'll  have  a  cigar,"  growled  Humpty.  The  half-dollai 
disappeared  into  the  till.  Stephen  believed  sufficiently 
in  the  adage  concerning  the  custom  of  the  country  not  to 
ask  any  questions  concerning  price.  He  lifted  his  glass  and 
silently  toasted  Humpty;  then  set  it  down  on  the  plain 
deal  bar. 

"Is  Mr.  McGuimp  about?" 

"Naw!" 

"Do  you  know  when  he  will  be?" 

"Naw!" 

"Thank  you,"  said  Stephen,  still  smiling. 


THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN  161 

"Whadda  yuh  doin'?  kiddin'  me?  inquired  Mr.  Keegan, 
his  face  darkening. 

What  might  have  been  the  outcome  of  the  matter  was 
never  fully  determined  in  Stephen's  mind;  for,  at  that 
moment,  he  was  forced  to  give  his  attention  to  a  young 
gentleman  who  stumbled  against  him  in  order  to  divert  his 
attention  from  the  efforts  of  another  young  gentleman  to 
reach  his  watch.  Stephen  smilingly  stepped  back,  shaking 
his  head. 

"Raw  work,  boys,"  he  criticized.  "Good  for  the  *shorts' 
and  that's  about  all.  Have  to  do  better  than  that  nowadays 
if  you  want  to  get  on." 

His  smiling  assurance,  his  big  frame,  and,  now,  his  use  of 
words  confined  to  the  underworld  and  only  known  by  those 
familiar  with  its  life,  somewhat  disconcerted  the  gentlemen 
with  the  uncomfortable  hats.  The  man  who  had  tried  to 
possess  himself  of  Stephen's  property  and  who  was  in  a 
fair  way  to  promotion  as  a  lieutenant  left  the  room  hurriedly 
to  seek  Big  Al,  whom  he  knew  to  be  feasting  with  a  friend 
at  the  chop  suey  restaurant  over  the  way. 

Stephen  produced  a  gold  cigarette  case  from  which  he 
took  one  of  a  brand  unfamiliar  to  that  section  of  the  city. 
But  even  as  he  lit  it  he  did  not  remove  his  gaze  from  those 
members  of  McGuimp's  fraternity  who  were  engaged  in 
staring  at  him,  holding  the  match  up  instead  of  bending 
down  over  the  flame.  The  gentlemen  found  his  close 
attention  somewhat  disconcerting.  Soon  they  only  stared 
in  relays. 

The  appearance  of  a  chunky  man  —  his  breadth  accent- 
uated by  the  short,  double-breasted  reefer  coat  and  low- 


162  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

crowned  derby  he  wore;  a  man  of  porcine  eyes,  his  head, 
contrary  to  the  usual  fashion,  broadening  downward  from 
a  low  narrow  forehead  until  his  jaws  had  the  semblance  of 
the  well-filled  pouches  of  a  squirrel  —  was  hailed  with  gen- 
uine relief.  Stephen  received  the  many  telepathic  messages 
flashed  about  the  narrow  space  of  the  bar-room,  and  viewed 
the  new  comer  with  the  knowledge  that  he  was  a  man  of 
some  importance  in  this  little  world,  possibly  the  leader  of 
these  "gorillas."  Their  eyes  sought  each  the  level  of  the 
other's,  and  Stephen  was  unable  to  restrain  a  laugh.  The 
man's  head  suggested  to  him  only  a  harmless  Bartlett  pear. 

Slowly  the  new  comer  made  his  way  to  Stephen,  passed 
him,  and  entered  the  little  room  at  the  back,  where  he  was 
followed  by  a  number  of  the  men,  only  enough  remaining  to 
overwhelm  the  stranger  should  he  so  conduct  himself  as  to 
merit  it.  The  squirrel-pouched  man  removed  himself  from 
Stephen's  line  of  vision,  and,  taking  from  his  pocket  a 
.38  revolver  of  a  pattern  familiar  to  magazine  readers  who 
have  been  urged  to  "hammer  the  hammer,"  polished  off 
the  long  nickled  barrel  with  a  gypsy  handkerchief. 

"Yuh  'make'  him,  Al?"  queried  one  of  his  followers. 

"You  ginks  git  into  that  bar  and  see  he  stays  there," 
returned  Big  Al  briefly. 

"Has  he  got  any  dough,  Al? "asked  a  thin-lipped  Jew. 

"You  do  as  I  tell  you.  Git  in  there.  Rats  and  Gas- 
House  and  me  were  goin'  up  to-morra  night  teh  git  him. 
The  'dicks'  ain't  givin'  him  no  protection,  see?  If  we 
croak  him,  it's  a  accident  and  nuthin'  won't  be  done;  that 
comes  straight  from  'the  office,'  see?  " 

They  moved  off. 


THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN  16S 

"Wait  a  minute.  Don't  start  nuthin'  in  here.  'Chicken* 
'ull  be  here  by  one.  Wait  fer  him.  We  gotta  keep  him 
here  'til  he  comes." 

They  filtered  back  into  the  narrow  bar,  and  others  slid 
into  the  back  room  to  be  furnished  with  information.  The 
females  at  the  table,  sentient  to  danger  through  the  pro- 
duction of  Big  Al's  gun,  sat  quiet.  A  great  silence 
brooded  over  the  bar,  also,  the  brute  eyes  of  the  gorilla  occa- 
sionally searching  Stephen's,  and  amazed  that  they  found 
no  fear  there. 

Stephen  was  becoming  impatient;  the  foul  air  was  nau- 
seating, and  this  ominous  silence,  while  in  no  way  intimi- 
dating, nevertheless  irked  him.  He  wondered  if  the  man 
who  had  just  entered  could  be  McGuimp,  but  Big  Al 
did  not  return  to  the  bar  that  Stephen  might  ask;  for  he  had 
left  the  back  room  by  the  hall-way  known  as  the  "Ladies* 
Entrance"  and  was  now  standing  just  outside  the  bar  door 
that  led  to  the  street. 

"When  d'you  expect  McGuimp?"  asked  Stephen,  turning 
his  head  at  a  slight  angle  to  address  Humpty  Keegan. 

"One  o'clock,"  volunteered  one  of  the  gorillas  who  had 
been  informed. 

Stephen  thanked  him  and  moved  toward  the  street  door. 
The  gorillas,  patient  as  wolves  and  as  unreasoning,  moved 
after  him  in  a  body,  elated  at  an  action  that  could  be 
attributed  to  fear. 

"You  stay  in  here,  young  fella,"  called  after  him  the 
young  Jew  who  had  inquired  of  Big  Al  concerning  the 
stranger's  wealth.  Stephen  turned,  noting  their  general 
movement  forward. 


164  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"What?"  he  asked. 

Something  in  his  tone  bade  the  man  who  had  spoken 
keep  his  peace.  He  was  at  a  loss  to  explain  why,  but  the 
very  placidity  of  the  stranger's  eye  and  the  quietness  of 
his  tone  made  him  desire  to  recall  his  words.  He  shivered 
instinctively  lest  he  should  be  picked  as  the  speaker. 

"Oh,  I  thought  somebody  spoke,"  said  Stephen,  looking 
them  over  as  a  general  might  inspect  a  squad  of  newly 
recruited  "rookies"  who  showed  little  promise.  They  felt 
the  implied  superiority  of  his  sneer  but,  somehow,  failed  to 
resent  it,  and  were  glad  when  he  removed  his  gaze  and 
turned  his  back  on  them  again.  They  made  no  further 
movement. 

"Let  Al  look  after  him;  he'll  do  ut,"  whispered  some  one. 
It  seemed  to  be  the  consensus  of  opinion. 

Stephen  opened  the  door.  Immediately  confronting  him 
was  Big  Al,  his  hand  in  his  jacket  pocket. 

"Wher6  you  goin',  young  fellow.''" 

"Why,"  answered  Stephen,  humouring  him,  "it's  rather 
close  in  the  bar.  I  thought  I'd  step  out  on  the  pavement 
a  minute.     By  the  way,  are  you  McGuimp?" 

All  bull-dozing  speeches  eluded  Big  Al's  memory;  he  felt 
at  a  loss  for  words,  so  contented  himself  with  growling 
out  a  negative  in  answer  to  the  latter  portion  of 
Stephen's  remark. 

"He'll  be  along  about  one,"  Stephen  said  conversation- 
ally. "I'm  very  anxious  to  meet  him  but  it's  too  close 
inside.    Think  I'll  step  out  on  the  curb." 

"Nope,"  declared  Al  courageously. 

"What?" 


THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN  165 

"Stay  inside  until  McGuimp  comes.  He  wants  to  see 
you.    You're  Steve  Adams,  ain't  yuh?" 

"Yes,"  agreed  Stephen. 

Al,  surprised  at  his  temerity  in  declaring  himself,  stared 
at  the  daring  one. 

"Guess  you  didn't  know  Mac  wanted  tuh^ee  you?'* 

"Yes,  I  heard  so  from  a  friend.  That's  why  I  came 
down.  I'm  very  anxious  to  meet  McGuimp,  as  I  said  before. 
I'll  be  waiting  for  him  at  the  curb  in  case  he  doesn't  recog- 
nize me." 

He  started  forward;  Al  put  up  a  flattened  palm. 

"Hullo,"  laughed  Stephen.     "What's  all  this!" 

"You  stay  in  that  bar  until  McGuimp  comes!" 

"What?" 

"You  heard  what  I  said,  young  fella!" 

"Oh,  behave,"  said  Stephen.  "Get  out  of  the  way  or 
I'll  drop  you  where  you  stand." 

He  slapped  down  the  upraised  palm,  tossed  Al  aside 
carelessly  and  stepped  out  into  the  street.  In  an  instant, 
the  match  of  violence  having  been  set  to  their  suppressed 
brutality,  there  was  a  headlong  rush  for  the  open,  each  man 
feeling  for  his  lead  pipe,  his  black  jack,  or  his  gun. 

They  came  out  into  the  cold,  clear  air  of  midnight,  under 
a  moon  that  lighted  up  the  snow-covered  streets,  and  they 
halted  suddenly,  deploying  in  a  straggling  semicircle. 

The  street  was  silent  and  empty  save  for  the  figure  of 
Stephen,  one  side  of  his  fur-lined  coat  now  thrown  back,  his 
back  against  a  gnarled  tree,  through  the  stark  branches  of 
which  a  flood  of  moonlight  filtered  down  to  show  the  sheer 
white  of  his  shirt  and  tie  and  the  fact  that  the  side  of  the 


166  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

coat  thrown  back  was  raised  just  a  trifle  by  something 
within  the  pocket  that  was  held  hard  against  the  cloth  by 
a  very  steady  hand. 

"Well,  boys,"  laughed  Stephen  pleasantly,  "want 
anything?" 

His  attitude  .alarmed  them.  If  he  had  drawn  a  weapon 
that  would  have  been  nothing;  but  this  throwing  back  of 
the  coat  and  the  heavy  pressure  of  a  gun  muzzle  against 
it  was  a  trick  that  they  associated  with  professional  mur- 
derers —  men  who  shot  in  crowds  and  then  quietly  closed 
their  coats  and  pressed  out  the  fire  from  within  so  that  none 
knew  from  whom  the  shot  had  come. 

"Oh,  you've  just  come  out  to  keep  me  from  being  lonely!" 

They  surveyed  his  huge  frame  uncomfortably.  Many 
shivered  but  not  from  the  cold.  An  uncontrollable  desire 
to  return  to  their  haunt  within  was  only  checked  by  the 
fear  of  turning  their  backs.  The  inside  of  "The  Gem" 
became  suddenly  an  Elysium  difficult  of  attainment. 
Big  Al,  more  than  any  of  the  others,  for  he  had  felt  the 
weight  of  the  stranger's  careless  gesture  and  knew  it  to  be 
more  powerful  than  another's  doughtiest  blow,  wished  he 
had  not  interfered  in  the  matter. 

It  was  in  marble-like  attitudes  that  McGuimp  found  his 
followers  upon  his  return  from  a  secret  session  with  the 
political  master  of  the  situation  in  that  part  of  town  who  had 
been  issuing  to  him  certain  instructions  that  had  to  do  with 
certain  enemies.  He  burst  through  the  semicircle  to  stand 
face  to  face  with  the  man  he  had  been  instructed  to  maim, 
recognizing  him  immediately  from  his  description,  and 
becoming    equally   cognizant  with  his    fellow    gorillas   of 


THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN  167 

the  sinister  threat  of  that  concealed  hand  and  thrown 
back  coat. 

Stephen  took  stock  of  him  —  a  hairy  fellow  with  a  long 
upper  lip  that  protruded  out  of  all  proportion  to  the 
other  features,  a  small  nose  with  split  nostrils  upturned, 
heavy  bowed  shoulders,  and  long,  lean  arms  held  in 
such  a  position  that  the  palms  were  turned  backward 
—  the  central  figure  of  a  fantasy  had  his  ugliness  possessed 
any  whimsical  touch,  but,  lacking  that,  only  a  throw 
back  to  the  jtree  man  —  an  atavistic  monstrosity  pain- 
ful to  the  more  cultivated  sight  of  those  a  hundred 
centuries  removed  from  him  by  the  natural  laws  of 
evolution. 

The  sight  of  such  a  man,  thought  Stephen,  must  have 
been  the  genesis  of  Charles  Darwin's  famous  theory. 

It  had  never  occurred  to  him  to  be  afraid;  least  of  all 
now.  He  was  studying  a  curiosity,  knowing  that  such  a 
man  must  have  been  his  ancestor  ages  before,  but  rather 
resenting  a  family  portrait  gallery  that  stretched  so 
far  back. 

Stephen's  analytical  gaze  had  its  effect  upon  McGuimp. 
The  sense  of  physical  superiority  overawed  him,  as  the 
appearance  of  the  lion  in  the  distance  sent  his  prototype  in 
the  early  ages  scurrying  to  the  topmost  branches  of  a  tree. 
Indeed  the  very  presence  of  the  withered  branches  before 
him  produced  a  disturbing  effect  in  his  groping  primor- 
dial brain. 

Stephen  burst  into  laughter,  laughter  as  fresh  and  as 
unfeigned  as  any  that  had  ever  been  drawn  from  him  by 
any  comic  happening.    That  men  should  fear  this  mental 


168  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

dwarf,  this  mere  beginning  of  a  man,  but  a  step  removed 
from  the  easily  trained  dumb  brutes,  was  something  so 
irresistibly  amusing  that  he  could  find  no  words  that  would 
adequately  express  his  feelings. 

The  laughter  seemed  like  the  tapping  of  a  steel  hammer 
against  the  gang  leader's  brain.  His  eyes  closed,  his 
attitude  became  that  of  a  dog,  about  to  slink  away  in 
blind  terror. 

"Come  here,  McGuimp,"  said  Stephen,  still  laughing. 

As  one  magnetized,  the  gorilla  advanced  w^thout  effort, 
facing  Stephen  for  a  moment  and  closing  his  eyes  again. 

"Send  that  mob  of  yours  back  where  they  came  from." 

McGuimp  half  turned  and  lifted  his  hand.  Glad  enough 
of  the  excuse  to  go,  they  still  hesitated.  Stephen  construed 
their  feelings  rightly. 

"I'm  not  down  here  for  trouble,  boys.  Do  as  you're 
told." 

One  by  one,  each  endeavouring  to  persuade  the  others 
by  his  gesture  that  he  went  simply  because  he  had  been 
so  requested,  the  gorillas  regained  their  Elysium  with  sup- 
pressed sighs  of  relief,  leaving  the  street  to  Stephen  and  their 
leader.  Stephen  waited  until  the  last  one  had  disappeared, 
then  again  gave  vent  to  his  tickled  risibilities  by  another 
hearty  laugh. 

"So  people  are  afraid  of  you,  McGuimp?  That's  the 
funniest  joke  of  the  year.  If  you  only  knew  how  ridiculous 
you  look,  my  boy.  I've  got  a  pup  I'm  going  to  name  after 
you.     Afraid  of  you  are  they,  McGuimp?" 

Somehow  it  seemed  ludicrous  even  to  the  gang  leader 
that  he  should  ever  have  imagined  himself  a  person  to  be 


««n ' 


DonH  ever  let  me  hear  another  peep  out  of  you  about 
me'" 


THE  NEW  FRANKENSTEIN  169 

feared,  with  this  towering  figure  looking  down  at  him,  this 
man  of  the  fine,  ringing  laugh  who  was  yet  as  able  to  stamp 
him  out  as  was  McGuimp  the  meanest  member  of  his  gang. 
His  eyes  sought  Stephen's  almost  appealingly  as  a  dog's 
those  of  a  master  who  is  inflicting  punishment. 

"I  guess  that  was  a  mistake,  McGuimp.?  You  weren't 
going  to  let  a  bullet-headed  policeman  'bull'  you  into  going 
after  me,  were  you?  You  really  didn't  intend  to  'get'  me, 
did  you,  McGuimp?" 

McGuimp  gave  vent  to  just  one  word  —  the  first  and  the 
last  he  had  ever  the  honour  to  address  to  Stephen  Adams. 
It  was  a  vigorous  and  emphatic  negative.  Stephen  laughed 
again  until  his  sides  ached. 

"I  thought  not!  Just  talking,  weren't  you?  Well, 
don't  talk  that  way  again,  McGuimp.  And  listen!  Don't 
come  up  in  my  part  of  the  town  again  and  beat  up  any  more 
men  —  understand?  Do  your  maiming  and  your  killing 
among  your  own  kind  of  brutes;  the  more  of  them  get  killed 
the  better;  but  don't  ever  let  me  hear  another  'peep*  out 
of  you  about  me  or  I'll  put  a  net  around  this  honkatonk 
of  yours  with  your  mob  in  it  and  drop  the  whole  business 
into  the  East  River.  That's  all.  Now  get  in  out  of 
the  cold  and  tell  your  gang  what  I've  told  you.  Go 
on!     Get!" 

Stephen  watched  the  gang  leader  go  as  ordered,  then, 
with  another  laugh,  walked  off  up  the  street. 

McGuimp  entered  the  bar.  Expectant  faces  questioned 
him.  His  realization  that  these  people  had  dared  to  offend 
the  man  he  had  just  left  occurred  to  him  suddenly  as  an 
insult,  and  as  the  beaten  dog  has  no  resentment  toward  his 


170  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

master  but  a  mighty  rage  against  that  master's  enemies, 
he  became  immediately  a  fierce,  menacing  figure. 

"Did  any  of  youse  guys  say  anything  wrong  to  Aim,  hey?  " 

If  he  had  lost  any  standing  by  his  conduct  in  the  presence 
of  Stephen,  he  regained  it  in  that  single  instant.  There 
was  a  chorus  of  negatives. 

"Don't  tell  me  no  lies,  now;  did  anybody  say  anything 
wroag?     Come  on  now!    Better  tell  me  de  trut' ! " 

The  frightened  Jew,  fearing  that  his  one  remark  might 
be  remembered  by  the  others,  cried  out  in  his  fear: 

"  Al  did  —  Big  Al  —  he  put  up  his  mitt  and  tole  him  not 
tuh  go  out.    He  done  it." 

His  eyes  blazing,  McGuimp  tore  across  the  room  to  where 
stood  the  man  with  the  squirrel-pouched  face,  and,  even  as 
he  ran,  he  swung  his  fist.  Al  toppled  under  the  blow  and 
fell  awkwardly,  striking  his  head  against  a  cuspidor.  Mc- 
Guimp kicked  him  viciously  with  his  heavy  boots. 

"Yuh  let  me  hear  of  any  of  youse  guys  sayin'  anyt'ing 
wrong  tuh  him.  Wy,  you  big  boobs,"  he  yelled  in  a  sudden 
frenzy  of  triumphant  pride  at  declaring  so  great  a  man  in 
any  way  connected  with  himself,  "yuh  bone  heads,  yuh 
mutts  —  he's  me  pal.** 


CHAPTER  VI 
THE  SPmER 


INTRODUCING    COMMON    POLK    TO   THEIR    MASTER 

DOWN  on  the  lower  part  of  the  island  of  Manhattan, 
where  belles  and  their  beaux  once  strolled  in  well- 
bred  leisure  and  watched  queenly  ships  skim  lightly  over 
placid  waters  bringing  them  mail  from  that  greater  land 
beyond  the  seas;  where  Manhattan  seems  to  narrow  and 
two  rivers  meet  placidly;  where  frigate  and  privateer,  mer- 
chantman, pirate,  and  man-of-war  lay  side  by  side  in  the 
broad  harbour  for  the  time  at  peace  in  this  Mecca  of  the 
New  World  where  all  earth's  long-delayed  promises  to  com- 
mon men  were  to  be  fulfilled;  down  where  a  jubilant  nation 
afterward  erected  a  gigantic  monolith  in  honour  of  the 
seeming  fulfilment  of  those  promises,  yes,  almost  within 
the  shadow  of  Liberty's  cradle  —  stand  the  castles  of  those 
who  are  speedily  making  a  race  of  free  men  bond  again. 

Here  there  are  not  men  but  human  dynamos;  here  machin- 
ery has  long  since  taken  the  place  of  hearts;  even  brains 
have  become  subordinated  to  tireless  energy  and  concen- 
trated money  lust.    There  is  lacking  here  even  the  beauty 

171 


172  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

that  old-time  tyrants  gave  to  possessions  wrenched  from  the 
people;  one  may  forgive  a  structure  stained  with  one's 
blood  if  that  structure  be  more  beautiful  than  one's  dreams; 
but  the  castles  of  the  new  masters  are  only  masses  of  wood, 
stone,  and  iron,  divided  into  hutches  where  sit  patient 
rabbits,  blinking  bleared  eyes  under  green  shades,  and 
counting  up  their  overlords'  wealth.  Sallow  of  skin,  stunted 
of  frame,  and  dwarfed  of  mind,  are  the  wage  slaves  of  the 
machine;  in  dress  pitifully  alike;  in  disposition  as  near  a 
copy  of  the  one  immediately  above  them  as  their  inferior 
mentality  permits;  each  bullying  some  helpless  subordinate 
who  in  turn  will  bully  another  over  whom  he  has  the  right; 
for  cunning  masters  contrive  small  whips  that  their  slaves 
may  scourge  other  slaves  with  them,  and,  through  giving 
petty  authority,  wrench  a  dollar  where  but  a  half  is  paid. 

The  Masters'  Castles  —  truly  gigantic  monstrosities 
befitting  a  dynasty  whose  ruler  is  from  the  loins  of  the  god- 
dess of  gold;  false  even  in  their  appearance  of  strength, 
for  here  the  masters  have  faced  disciples  of  their  own  law- 
less creed  which  is  to  give  as  little  as  one  must  for  service 
rendered;  buildings  built  upon  sand  because  the  rock  was 
too  expensive  to  reach  if  contractors  are  to  wax  rapidly 
rich;  the  aftermaths  of  dying  men  in  unsafe  caissons,  for 
life  is  cheaper  in  New  York  town  than  the  cost  of  saving  it  — 
card-board  houses  of  an  oligarchy,  than  which  none  has 
been  more  ridiculous  since  the  geese  flapped  and  crowed 
in  ancient  Rome. 

Not  castles  reared  by  mighty  men,  head  and  shoulders 
above  their  kind;  not  the  castles  of  great  rulers,  holding 
the  reins  of  government  by  sheer  force  of  mighty  intellects; 


THE  SProER  178 

neither  the  great  crude  strength  of  barbarism  nor  the 
keen,  ordered  dignity  of  those  who  have  passed  through 
civilization's  crucible  and  emerged  fit  to  rule  nobly. 
For  these  are  rulers  only  because  of  the  crass  stupidity 
of  a  generation  too  confused  and  perplexed  to  rule  for 
themselves. 

Men  called  the  many-tentacled  decapod,  requiring  for 
residence  a  granite  building  of  thirty  stories  containing 
close  upon  a  thousand  rooms,  "Amalgamated  Securities." 
It  seemed  but  a  single  bowlder  that  helped  in  its  way  to 
make  the  walls  of  the  Grand  Canon  of  lower  Broadway; 
but,  in  reality,  it  was  from  there  that  red-hot  wires  ran  to 
all  the  other  bowlders.  No  deal  was  too  large  to  originate 
there;  none  too  small  for  Stephen  Janissary  to  unblushingly 
demand  his  share  of  the  profits.  Argus  eyed  and  heavy 
pawed.  Amalgamated  Securities  lay  like  an  unwieldy  shadow 
over  the  world  of  business  and  politics. 

A  man  who  had  wished  to  hold  the  highest  oflBce  in  the 
land  had  come  humbly  to  Room  203  (marked  private), 
and  had  gone  forth,  after  making  certain  promises,  with 
the  knowledge  that  he  was  already  elected.  No  senator 
was  deemed  fit  to  represent  the  Empire  State  at  the  nation's 
capital  unless  Room  203  approved  him  as  a  "safe"  man. 
Governors,  mayors,  and  representatives  were  of  too  little 
consequence  to  bother  about;  sometimes  Room  203  let  the 
people  elect  some  so-called  reformer  under  the  impression 
that  they  were  reorganizing  corrupt  politics.  This  was  very 
amusing  to  Room  203  and  cost  it  little;  for,  if  it  found  the 
electedone  meddlingin  its  affairs  after  taking  the  office.itwas 
always  easy  to  smother  him  with  lieutenant-governorships, 


174  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

vice-presidencies,  or,  as  a  token  of  respectful  fear,  with 
a  seat  in  the  Federal  Judiciary. 

It  made  very  little  difference  to  Room  203  how  an  indig- 
nant nation  voted,  so  long  as  nature's  inexorable  law  was 
that  fools  be  in  the  majority  and  the  greatest  number  of  the 
intelligent  be  without  scruples.  These  latter  could  be 
bought;  those  of  the  brainless  not  susceptible  to  bribes  were 
easily  persuaded  by  a  subsidized  press  and  expensive  pub- 
licity promoters  into  the  opinion  that  Socialism  was  akin 
to  Anarchy  and  to  priding  themselves  into  believing  they 
were  "Conservative."  Truly  Satan  never  invented  a 
more  convenient  word;  there  must  have  been  merry  laughter 
in  hell  when  "Conservative"  was  coined. 

At  the  top  of  this  heap  of  ludicrous  conceit  sat  Stephen 
Janissary  in  Room  203. 

"Janissary  and  Duress"  had  long  ago  ceased  to  interest 
him.  It  had  been  but  a  step  to  the  control  of  the  flour 
industry,  which  was  now  capably  managed  for  him  by 
Henry  K.  Vaughan.  A  corner  in  wheat  had  followed  inev- 
itably, catching  in  its  meshes  some  of  those  heavily  inter- 
ested in  oil,  and  from  them  Janissary  had  demanded  a  heavy 
toll  of  their  stock  before  he  would  release  them.  That 
certain  oil  fields  should  be  properly  developed,  it  was 
necessary  that  he  should  interest  himself  in  those  railroads 
on  which  the  developments  depended.  Once  in,  it  was  to 
be  expected  that  trusty  lieutenants  should  point  out  to  him 
how  easy  it  was  to  bankrupt  smaller  railroads  and  buy  in 
their  stock  for  a  song.  Friction  between  himself  and 
affiliated  railroad  owners  caused  him  to  build  a  trolley  line 
between    two    cities.     This   knowledge   of   the   value   of 


THE  SProER  175 

franchises  made  him  greedy  to  share  in  the  rich  profits 
accruing  from  the  ownership  of  stock  in  transportation 
companies  in  the  metropolis. 

He  had  scarcely  ever  taken  a  risk.  He  had  always  been 
in  the  possession  of  ready  money  when  ready  money  was 
scarce,  and  he  had  bought  nothing  that  was  not  safe  as  real 
estate.  Eventually,  it  was  necessary  that  he  own  a  bank 
to  swing  his  enterprises;  now  he  had  a  chain  of  banks. 

And  then,  that  his  interests  might  be  protected,  he  saw 
that  he  must  also  own  a  fair  share  of  the  government;  and 
he  found  that,  with  money  to  hand,  this  was  the  easiest 
task  of  all. 

Men  had  long  ceased  to  attempt  to  compile  statistics 
concerning  his  wealth.  It  having  gone  outside  their  ken, 
they  referred  to  him  vaguely  as  a  billionaire.  K  wealth  be 
reckoned  by  income,  he  was. 

Had  he  been  a  really  great  man  he  might  have  been 
vulnerable.  But  there  was  nothing  in  life  for  which  he  had 
a  weakness.  Women  had  ever  been  to  him  but  creatures  of 
the  moment  to  be  summoned  when  wanted,  dismissed 
immediately  they  palled.  His  second  wife,  whom  he  married 
in  the  desperate  hope  of  securing  a  second  son  and  heir, 
had  disappointed  him  and,  finding  his  wrath  too  terrible, 
had  fled  from  him  to  the  security  of  a  convent,  denying  him 
divorce  as  a  result  of  her  religion,  and  dying  only  a  few  years 
before.  Of  art,  music,  and  literature,  he  was  still  as  igno- 
rant as  he  had  ever  been.  Qis  personal  tastes  were  still 
those  of  the  middle  classes,  with  the  exception  of  a  recently 
developed  hobby  for  carved  jewels.  Some  one  had  per- 
suaded him  to  build  a  great  country  house  in  Westchester 


176  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

County,  but  he  used  it  only  when  he  wished  to  golf;  his  city 
home  was  still  the  old  Janissary  house  on  lower  Fifth 
Avenue. 

When  Canby  Kemahan  first  read  the  story  of  John  Gra- 
ham's fight  in  the  Council,  it  had  never  occurred  to  him  that, 
at  the  end  of  the  long  coil  of  corruption,  he  was  going  to 
find  Amalgamated  Securities.  The  story,  in  itself,  was 
big  enough  without  springing  from  so  gigantic  a  root. 

"Before  the  street  railways  were  amalgamated  under  one 
head,"  his  city  editor  had  told  him,  "there  was  a  surface 
car  that  ran  along  Broadway  from  Bowling  Green  out  to 
Harlem.  But  the  minute  all  of  them  got  together,  it  was 
arranged  to  take  this  line  off,  and  pretend  that  there  were 
two  rival  companies,  so  that  the  Broadway  cars  ran  out 
Seventh  Avenue  to  Fifty-third  Street,  then  into  Sixth 
Avenue  and  so  on  and  so  on;  so  that  if  you  wanted  to  ride 
out  Broadway  farther  than  Forty-seventh  Street  you  had  to 
pay  two  fares.  Now  John  Graham,  a  mighty  square  alder- 
man, has  looked  over  the  franchises  of  these  companies, 
and  found  that  a  link  in  this  Broadway  car  line  isn't  provided 
with  a  franchise;  in  other  words,  that  these  cars  run  over 
one  block  of  city  property  without  having  any  authority 
to  do  so  from  the  city,  and  he  has  introduced  a  measure 
before  the  council  to  veto  the  car  line's  franchise.  He  says 
that  any  body  of  men  so  infernally  greedy  as  to  cut  that 
Broadway  ride  in  half  and  force  a  large  proportion  of  people 
living  above  Forty-seventh  Street  either  to  walk  or  pay  a 
second  fare  deserves  no  mercy  even  on  a  technicality." 

Kemahan  had  nodded. 

"  I've  been  following  the  story,  sir.    The  veto's  bound  to 


THE  SPIDER  177 

go  through,  isn't  it?  The  council  wouldn't  dare  to  vote 
against  it  in  the  face  of  the  public  opinion  that  we've 
stirred  up!'* 

The  city  editor,  calloused  to  graft,  found  the  unsophisti- 
cation  of  the  younger  man  amusing. 

"Just  figure  out  to  yourself  how  much  that  franchise  is 
worth  to  the  people  now  operating  it  and  how  much  the 
city  could  make  those  people  pay  to  get  it  back  again  if 
it  were  once  cancelled;  then  figure  out  how  much  money 
they're  willing  to  disgorge  to  save  themselves  any  such 
disaster." 

Kernahan  had  sat  down,  overwhelmed.  Each  develop- 
ment of  civic  corruption  that  came  to  his  notice  found  him 
unprepared.  He  had  spent  his  life  among  a  different  race 
of  people;  among  those  with  whom  honour,  the  fair  fame  of 
their  family,  honesty,  and  a  conscience  at  peace  with  itself 
counted  for  more  than  the  mere  accumulation  of  money. 
Their  lives  had  been  less  complex,  and  regulated  by  their 
abilities  rather  than  their  desires.  It  was  the  very  fact 
that  he  looked  at  affairs  in  New  York  through  the  eyes  of 
such  people  that  made  him  of  enormous  value  to  his  news- 
paper; for  his  indignation  at  public  thefts  was  not  feigned; 
his  rhetoric  had  in  it  something  more  than  a  mere  desire 
for  effect;  it  carried  conviction  to  the  mind  of  the  reader 
because  it  was  sincere. 

"Now  I  want  you  to  follow  this  thing,  day  by  day," 
the  city  editor  had  wound  up.  "Of  course,  everything 
will  be  done  to  choke  off  Graham  and  keep  the  measure 
from  being  introduced.  But  he's  that  rara  avis,  an 
honest  man,  and  he's  going  through.     It'll  be  interesting 


178  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

to  see  what  Amalgamated  does  about  it.  I'll  bet  they 
haven't  had  a  scare  like  this  thrown  into  them  for  years, 
and  it'll  cost  the  crowd  a  fortune  before  they  get  through 
with  it.  More  than  that;  Stephen  Janissary  and  that  crew 
will  have  a  few  more  lines  and  gray  hairs  before  the  thing's 
over." 

"Janissary  —  is  he  mixed  up  in  this,  too?" 

"My  dear  Kemy,"  said  the  city  editor  tolerantly,  "you 
talk  like  a  child.  The  history  of  the  United  States  and  that 
of  Stephen  Janissary  have  been  identical  for  the  past  five 
years  or  so.    The  man  is  invincible;  you  can't  beat  him." 

Kernahan  flushed. 

"Well,  he'll  be  beaten  on  this  thing  —  that's  a  cinch. 
The  council  would  never  dare  to  refuse  to  veto  that  fran- 
chise; why  the  men  who  voted  for  it  would  be  tarred  and 
feathered  and  run  out  of  town." 

"In  your  section  of  the  country,  you  mean.  Here  they'll 
give  a  big  picnic,  distribute  a  hundred  tons  of  coal  among 
the  poor,  and  be  as  popular  as  ever  with  the  simple  voters 
by  the  time  next  election  comes.  But  while  this  story  lasts, 
it's  a  pippin  for  us.     Go  to  it,  young  reformer!" 

"If  I  have  anything  to  do  with  it,  the  measure  won't  go 
through.  I'll  interview  every  alderman  and  force  him  to 
make  a  statement  about  the  measure,  and  if  he  goes  back 
on  it  he'll  be  politically  dead " 

"With  you,  you  mean.  Well,  God  bless  you,  Kemy, 
and  more  speed  to  your  elbow;  but  Janissary  and  his 
crowd  will  win.  I'll  bet  you  the  finest  hat  you  ever  had  on 
your  head  they  do." 

"A  good  sport  never  bets  on  a  sure  thing,"  said  Canby 


THE  SPIDER  179 

Keraahan  sententiously.  "Therefore  I  refuse  to  be 
equipped  with  headgear  at  your  expense." 

"Lucky  you  feel  that  way  about  it,"  laughed  the  city 
editor,  "because  they'll  win  as  sure  as  God  made  little 
apples.     So  long." 

Since  that  time  Kernahan  had  discovered  that  the  pessi- 
mistic outlook  of  his  superior  oflScer  was  only  too  lamentably 
justified;  for,  in  spite  of  his  and  other  burning  articles,  there 
was  a  deadlock  in  the  council,  and,  after  a  period  of  holding 
out,  Aloysius  McKenna  went  over  to  the  enemy,  his  vote 
deciding  the  battle  in  favour  of  the  corporation.  Imme- 
diately thereafter  a  new  franchise  to  cover  that  city  block 
was  introduced. 

But  Canby  had  not  been  idle.  Working  shoulder  to 
shoulder  with  John  Graham,  he  had  cornered  McKenna, 
and,  finding  the  man  a  fairly  decent  sort  of  citizen,  had 
played  upon  his  better  feelings  to  such  good  purpose  that, 
under  the  most  solemn  of  pledges  to  keep  his  peace,  Kern- 
ahan learned  that  there  was  a  grand  jury  indictment  against 
McKenna  for  manslaughter  —  the  result  of  a  saloon  brawl 
in  which  he  had  struck  in  self-defence.  But  he  had  no 
witnesses  to  prove  his  innocence  and  the  grand  jury  had 
indicted  him.  Being,  however,  a  lawyer  of  some  influence 
on  the  East  Side,  the  machine  had  indefinitely  postponed 
the  trial,  and  voted  him  into  office,  knowing  that  the  indict- 
ment would  be  a  Damoclean  sword  to  hold  over  his  head. 

But,  sickened  of  such  political  slavery,  he  had  been 
about  to  take  his  chances  and  vote  in  favour  of  John  Gra- 
ham's measure;  after  that  he  had  intended  to  throw  himself 
upon  the  mercy  of  the  public  should  the  indictment  be 


180  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

revived,  explaining  that  his  ill-luck  was  only  due  to  the  fact 
that  he  had  antagonized  the  political  and  business  interests 
that  had  hitherto  protected  him.  It  was  while  in  this  frame 
of  mind,  he  told  Kernahan,  that  he  had  been  taken  to  see 
Mr.  Janissary  and  shown  the  sworn  statements  of  five 
witnesses  who  declared  McKenna  was  the  aggressor  in  the 
saloon  brawl  and  who  also  stated  that  they  had  heard  him 
state  in  their  presence,  two  weeks  before,  that  he  intended 
to  "get"  the  man  whom  he  had  killed.  This  changed  the 
aspect  of  affairs  from  manslaughter  to  murder  in  the  first 
degree  —  for  premeditation  made  all  the  difference  — 
and  it  was  a  certainty  that,  if  he  were  brought  to  trial  on 
the  present  indictment,  the  grand  jury  would  return  a 
second  one  that  would  result  in  no  less  than  twenty  years' 
imprisonment. 

It  was  also  shown  to  McKenna's  perfect  dismay  that  the 
district  attorney  was  on  the  best  of  terms  with  the  son  of 
the  president  of  the  railway  companies,  and  that  the 
president  —  O'Shea  —  had  the  pleasure  of  the  public 
prosecutor's  company  at  dinner  more  than  a  few  times  each 
month.  The  district  attorney's  term  of  office  being  short, 
and  the  position  of  legal  adviser  to  the  street  railways  being 
guaranteed  him  after  that  term  had  expired,  it  was  not  to 
be  supposed  that  the  prosecution  of  Mr.  McKenna  would 
be  conducted  in  a  lackadaisical  manner. 

Then,  after  showing  the  alderman  what  they  were  able 
to  do  if  he  voted  against  their  interests,  a  flat  package  of 
bills  was  put  into  his  hands  —  the  legend,  $25,000,  being 
inscribed  upon  the  brown  paper  that  covered  them. 

It  was  through  the  acceptance  of  this  sum  that  McKenna 


THE  SPIDER  181 

was  enabled  to  leave  New  York  for  London,  whence  he  would 
travel  to  Tangier  where  extradition  laws  were  not.  John 
Graham  had  guaranteed  to  clear  him  of  the  manslaughter 
charge,  and  to  look  out  for  his  interests  during  his  solstice. 
Graham  had  waited  until  McKenna  cabled  from  London 
that  he  was  on  his  way  to  Tangier.  Now,  armed  with  his 
confession  and  flanked  by  Canby  Kemahan,  he  awaited  the 
effect  of  sending  in  his  card  to  Stephen  Janissary. 

The  first  clerk  in  the  general  offices  of  Amalgamated  to 
whom  the  card  had  been  handed  had  treated  it  with  the 
usual  contempt  shown  in  that  office  to  any  who  desired  to 
transact  business  there.  He  was  a  sloe-eyed  young  fellow 
with  a  vulgar  collar  that  came  close  together  and  held  the 
veriest  wisp  of  knitted  neck-tie  fastened  with  a  matrix 
pin  so  arranged  that  it  wormed  its  way  in  and  out  of  the 
tie  in  three  places. 

"See  Mr.  Janissary?"  he  said  in  tones  that  seemed  awed 
by  the  unreasonableness  of  the  request.  "Oh,  say,  you're 
kiddin'  me,  ain't  you?" 

Kernahan  added  his  card  to  that  of  Graham's.  The 
clerk  looked  at  it  for  the  barest  instant  then  tossed  it  back, 

"He  never  sees  any  of  you  newspaper  fellahs;  you  oughta 
know  that.  Kinda  new  to  th'  business,  ain't  you?"  He 
hailed  a  fellow  clerk.  "Say,  Gus,  here's  nerve  for  you; 
a  couple  of  newspaper  guys  sendin'  in  their  cards  to  Mr. 
Janissary !    Rich,  ain't  it?  " 

The  other  joined  in  the  laugh  that  followed.  The  first 
clerk  seemed  to  consider  the  interview  at  an  end  for  he 
turned  his  back  upon  the  visitors. 

"What  show  you  gunna  go  to  to-night,  Gus?" 


182  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"Oh,  I  dunno;  so  much  of  this  high  brow  stuff  in  the 
theatres  this  month.  Let's  go  tuh  see  th'  'Girl  from  Shan- 
ley's'  agin,  hey?" 

"Aaw,  cheese!    We've  seen  it  couple  o'  times." 

"I  know,  but  we  can  get  front-row  seats  now  and  kid 
those  dancing  girls.  .  .  .  How  are  yuh  on  the  cur- 
rency? Strong?  Might  kop  a  couple  out  for  ourselves 
and  take  them  tuh  supper " 

Graham  broke  in  impatiently: 

"Are  you  going  to  send  my  card  to  Mr.  Janissary,  or 
are  you  not?" 

The  clerks  turned,  regarding  him  superciliously;  but  a 
second  look  at  the  grim  face,  the  deep-set  eyes,  broad  brow, 
and  statesman's  black  string  neck-tie  set  a  cog  of  memory 
working  in  the  mind  of  Gus.  He  frowned  at  his  companion 
and  stretched  out  his  hand  for  Graham's  card. 

"Yuh  ain't  John  K.  Graham,  th'  alderman,  are  yuh?" 
he  asked. 

Graham  nodded.  Gus  caught  the  arm  of  the  clerk  who 
had  first  spoken,  and,  drawing  him  away,  whispered.  The 
other  took  the  card  and  disappeared. 

"I'm  sorry,  gen'l'men,"  averred  Gus,  drawing  close  to 
the  wicket  window.  "  Didn't  know  who  you  was,  you  know. 
So  many  panhandlers  an*  grafters  a-tryin'  to  see  Mr.  Janis- 
sary.   Hope  you " 

"Like  master,  like  man,"  murmured  Graham. 

"Beg  your  pardon,  sir " 

"Oh,  nothing.   Incident's  closed.  Say  no  more  about  it." 

The  other  clerk  returned. 

"Card's  on  its  way  up,"  he  explained  to  the  waiting  men. 


THE  SPIDER  183 

"Takes  some  time  to  get  to  Mr.  Janissary  —  has  to  pass 
through  about  twenty  people.    Sit  down,  please." 

He  had  sent  cards  to  the  great  man  before,  and  had 
known  United  States  senators  and  others  whose  names 
were  household  words,  to  remain  waiting  for  half  an  hour 
or  more.  Stephen  Janissary  seldom  received  except  by 
appointment.  But  there  was  no  doubt  in  the  mind  of  either 
the  alderman  or  the  newspaper  man  that  Janissary  would 
welcome  a  conversation  with  the  father  of  the  franchise 
veto  measure. 

Indeed  a  peculiar  honour  was  in  store  for  him.  No  less 
a  person  than  Eliason,  confidential  secretary  now,  as  he  had 
always  been,  to  Janissary,  answered  the  call  of  the  card  — 
a  shred  of  a  man,  bundled  up  in  a  great  fur  coat,  his  thin  neck 
wrapped  in  a  silk-knitted  muffler,  and  affecting  those 
whiskers  which  have  all  the  semblance  of  virtue  and  which 
are  popularly  known  as  "weepers"  —  the  perfect  picture 
of  a  member  of  the  vestry  of  a  fashionable  church. 

"Mr.  Graham,  sir  ...  an  honour:  and  your  friend 
—  Kirby  Hand,  you  say? — Ah,  Kernahan?  Excuse  me, 
gentlemen  —  a  trifling  affliction  of  the  left  ear  —  if  you 
wouldn't  mind  speaking  to  my  right.  Ah,  thank  you. 
As  you  say,  gentlemen  —  Mr.  Janissary?  Quite  so  —  very 
anxious  to  have  the  honour  of  your  acquaintance,  gentle- 
men, but  terribly  busy  with  a  board  meeting.  It  is  a 
thing  to  ask,  him  giving  that  up  —  but  terribly  anxious  to 
have  the  honour  —  a  few  moments.  Come  with  me, 
gentlemen." 

He  led  the  way  into  the  marble-paved  hall  of  the  building 
and  through  the  revolving  doors  to   the   street,   where. 


184  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

conspicuous  even  in  the  cheap  expensiveness  of  lower  Broad- 
way, a  handsomely  appointed,  dark  blue  landaulette, 
presided  over  by  a  chauffeur  in  livery  that  matched  the 
car's  colour,  was  drawn  up  to  the  curb. 

"Mr.  Janissary  requests  you  to  accompany  me  to  his 
house  —  private  house,  gentlemen.  Appreciates  honour 
of  your  call,  and  wants  to  give  you  his  undivided  attention. 
Eh,  what's  that,  gentlemen?  On  the  right  side  if  you 
please " 

But  Graham  did  not  desire  that  Eliason  should  hear  what 
he  was  saying  to  Kemahan: 

"That's  where  all  the  big  deals  are  pulled  off  —  at  the 
house.  That's  where  they  took  McKenna.  He's  going 
to  talk  business." 

"Yes,  what  he  calls  business;  but  what  you'd  call  bribery." 

"The  right  side,  gentlemen,  if  you  please." 

"Oh,  it's  nothing,  sir,"  explained  Graham,  as  he  sat 
down  beside  Eliason  in  the  motor-car.  "Just  a  remark  I 
made  to  my  friend.     It  wasn't  of  any  importance." 

Dusk  was  beginning  to  fall  — the  early  dusk  that  pre- 
cedes the  long  winter  night  —  and  the  chimes  of  Trinity 
Church  —  a  peaceful,  old-world  anachronism,  that  church, 
with  its  graveyard  of  mighty  dead,  a  solemn  warning  to 
the  victors  of  the  moment  that  eternity  at  least  could  not 
be  bought  —  were  calling  the  hour  of  five.  The  rabbits, 
turned  loose  from  their  hutches,  were  scampering  home  to 
their  warrens  at  the  other  end  of  the  town  where  they  might 
eat  poorly  and  rest  scantily,  preparing  for  their  tread-mill 
work  of  the  morrow.  They  scattered  at  the  approach  of 
the  magnificent  car,  yielding  it  the  right  of  way  without 


THE  SPIDER  185 

question.  Eliason  pulled  down  the  blinds,  and,  touching 
a  button,  flooded  the  interior  with  roseate  light. 

"Cigarettes,  cigars,  the  evening  papers,  a  light  —  even 
a  wee  nip  if  you  indulge,  gentlemen." 

It  was  but  a  question  of  touching  buttons  set  in  the  bro- 
caded panelled  walls  for  little  compartments  containing 
the  articles  of  which  the  secretary  spoke  to  be  revealed  to 
their  gaze  —  the  furnishings  in  gold  and  cut  glass.  The 
guests  shook  their  heads,  and  Eliason  helped  himself  to  a 
cigarette,  pressing  another  button  that  caused  an  overhead 
ventilator  to  whirl  about  carrying  oflf  the  smoke. 

"  Mr.  Janissary  neither  smokes,  drinks,  nor  chews  — 
a  beautiful  example  to  the  youth  of  the  age.  A  glass  of 
port  on  rare  occasions,  nothing  more.  If  our  great  men 
would  but  all  follow  his  example !  Ah,  gentlemen,  the  right 
side,  if  you  please " 

"Very  beautiful,  indeed,"  sneered  Graham.  But  the 
old  man  heard  only  the  words. 

"As  you  say,  Mr.  Graham,  very  beautiful.  Such  an 
example  —  such  a  man!" 

He  clasped  his  hands  in  rapt  devotion. 

"I  —  I  must  confess,"  he  deprecated  as  he  held  the 
cigarette  between  thumb  and  forefinger  taking  an  occasional 
whiff,  "I  must  confess  that  I  am  not  equal  to  the  demand 
of  the  flesh.  These  cigarettes  now;  from  the  Khedive's  own 
stock;  such  tobacco,  gentlemen!  Why,"  he  added  in  an 
awed  whisper,  "twenty-one  cents  apiece,  counting  the 
duty.  But  it  is  vanity  and  he  is  above  it.  You  won't 
indulge,  gentlemen?" 

"Twenty-one  cents  apiece  for  cigarettes  and  the  cheapest 


186  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

eggs  twenty-five  cents  a  dozen,"  said  Graham  bitterly, 
turning  to  Kernahan. 

"The  right  side,  gentlemen,  please." 

They  ignored  him,  conversing  between  themselves,  the 
old  man  stroking  his  white  **  weepers  "  and  contemplating 
the  cigarette  he  held  with  affectionate  admiration.  The 
motor-car  drew  up  to  a  curb  again,  and  the  chauffeur, 
leaving  his  steering  wheel,  opened  the  door  for  them. 

The  years  had  made  little  change  in  the  massive,  brown- 
stone  house  of  Janissary;  the  spear-head  railings  had  received 
countless  more  coats  of  paint  but  always  the  same  black; 
a  famous  landscape  gardener  had  done  some  wonderful 
things  with  beds  of  tulips  and  geraniums  which  were  now 
covered  with  straw  to  protect  them  from  the  winter's  frost; 
but  the  oak  trees,  planted  when  the  house  was  built,  were 
still  young,  individual  laughs  of  time  at  the  apparent  age 
of  the  house  which  now  seemed  an  antiquity. 

The  door  was  opened  by  the  footman  who  had  once 
travelled  upon  Mr.  McCune's  'bus  to  order  the  supper  in 
celebration  of  young  Stephen's  birth;  but  he  was  an  upper 
footman  now  and  only  answered  the  door  and  waited  at 
table  when  big  functions  were  held,  a  man  solemn  beyond 
belief  and  in  no  way  reminiscent  of  that  one  who  had 
chaffed  'bus  drivers. 

The  library  into  which  Eliason  conducted  Graham  and 
Kernahan  was  at  the  head  of  the  broad  staircase,  and  it 
was  here  that  all  privy  businesses  connected  with  Amal- 
gamated Securities  were  transacted.  Its  appearance  was 
a  tribute  to  the  second  Mrs.  Janissary  who  had  been  a 
lady  of  some  artistic  impulses,  using  the  money  at  her 


THE  SPIDER  187 

command  to  beautify  the  middle-class  abode  to  which  she 
found  herself  taken  on  the  occasion  of  her  marriage.  It 
was  furnished  in  gold  and  dark  violet,  the  furniture  of 
mahogany  and  in  the  First  Empire  style,  with  bronze  figures 
of  Ceres,  Mercury,  Minerva,  and  Juno  attached  to  book- 
cases, chairs,  and  divans,  and  forming  component  parts 
of  table  legs.  Several  Greuzes,  Watteaus,  and  others  in 
styles  more  or  less  similar,  were  well  hung  and  lighted;  and 
the  fireplace  was  a  copy  of  the  one  that  travellers  admire 
in  Marie  Antoinette's  boudoir  at  the  Petit  Trianon;  above 
it,  in  a  glass  case,  two  Tanagra  statuettes.  The  volumes 
in  the  bookcases  were  handsomely  tooled  in  colours  that 
carried  out  the  general  colour-scheme  of  the  room,  and  the 
only  hint  of  business  was  found  in  the  flat-topped  table 
in  the  centre  of  the  room  on  which  were  arranged  writing 
paraphernalia  in  heavy  silver.  Even  the  telephone  and 
the  safe  were  concealed,  the  former  within  a  high  drawer 
in  the  desk  especially  made  for  the  purpose,  the  latter 
being  encased  within  the  lower  portion  of  a  magnificent 
piece  of  Chippendale  —  an  upright  desk  with  carved  lions* 
heads. 

When  Eliason  switched  on  the  lights  they  seemed  to 
emanate  from  real  candles,  so  cunningly  contrived  were  the 
three-branched  candelabras  set  over  mantel,  bookcases, 
and  in  corresponding  portions  of  the  room. 

Eliason  sat  down  at  the  flat-topped  desk  and  took  out 
the  concealed  telephone. 

"I'll  see  if  he's  left  the  oflSce,  gentlemen." 

He  held  the  receiver  to  his  ear. 

"Am  I  on  the  right  side,  gentlemen?     I  seem  to  be. 


188  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

I  am?  Strange;  I  hear  nothing.  Would  you  oblige  me, 
Mr.  Graham?    Ask  for  Broad  654789." 

"There's  something  the  matter  with  the  wire,"  said 
Graham  curtly,  after  pushing  down  the  hook  of  the  instru- 
ment several  times  in  the  belief  that  "exchange"  had  suc- 
cumbed to  soporific  influences.     Eliason  looked  vexed. 

"  Most  annoying  —  most  annoying,  gentlemen." 

He  touched  a  button. 

"Dreadfully  ineflBcient  service  —  terrible  annoyance." 

"Amalgamated  Securities  owns  a  majority  of  the  stock 
in  the  telephone  monopoly,"  said  John  Graham  grimly. 

"Right  side,  Mr.  Graham,  please.  What?  Oh,  Greedy," 
he  added  at  the  entrance  of  the  footman  he  had  summoned. 
"The  telephone's  out  of  order.  Send  around  some  one 
immediately.     Catch  them  before  they  close.    Hurry!" 

"If  you  please,  sir,  a  man  just  came;  a  workman;  says 
there's  been  complaints  from  all  around;  wanted  to  know 
if  ours  was  all  right,  sir." 

"Well,  you  can  tell  him  they're  not.  No,  send  him  up 
here.     I'll  speak  severely  to  him.     Most  annoying " 

"He  said  he'd  have  to  go  into  every  room  in  the  house, 
almost,  to  find  out  where  the  trouble  was,  Mr.  Eliason; 
said  something  about  a  short-circuit  or  something.  He's 
in  the  dining-room  now.     Shall  I  send  him  up?" 

"I  tolS  you  so,  did  I  not?  Yes,  immediately.  Impudent 
scamps,  these  workmen  —  servants  can't  manage  them." 

"Normasters,  either,  nowadays,"  growled  John  Graham. 

"The  workman,  sir,"  announced  the  footman,  who,  having 
leaned  over  the  balusters  and  called  to  his  companions  below, 
had  summoned  the  man  in  overalls  with  little  delay. 


THE  SPIDER  189 

As  has  been  before  remarked,  George  le  Fay  was  an  artist 
in  all  he  attempted.  Middle  class  he  might  be  in  his  per- 
sonal tastes,  but  in  such  matters  as  cheating  at  cards  or 
providing  himself  with  information  concerning  the  "lay- 
out" of  a  house,  the  contents  of  which  were  to  be  removed 
without  the  owner's  consent,  he  had  few  superiors.  He 
had  chosen  this  time  of  day  to  cut  the  telephone  wires  that 
connected  with  the  Janissary  house,  for  he  knew  it  would 
be  too  late  for  them  to  summon  a  workman  from  the  com- 
pany, and  he  would,  consequently,  have  all  the  time  neces- 
sary to  "sound  the  joint"  —  as  he  would  have  phrased  it. 
The  cutting  of  the  wires  had  been  accomplished  without 
difficulty  from  the  roof  of  the  house  next  door,  to  which  he 
had  gained  admittance  on  the  pretext  that  their  connection 
seemed  to  be  poor,  their  light  showing  but  dimly  in  the 
exchange.  He  had  informed  the  householder  that  the  trouble 
lay  in  the  Janissary  home  and  that  he  must  attend  to 
that  before  he  could  remedy  theirs,  this  because  he  knew 
he  must  return  to  the  first  house  to  twist  the  wires 
together  again.  He  had  already  very  thoroughly  inves- 
tigated dining,  breakfast  and  drawing  rooms,  also  kitchen, 
servants'  quarters,  wine  cellar,  and  coal  bins,  and  he  wel- 
comed the  summons  to  the  second  floor. 

A  few  smudges  of  grease  across  his  face,  his  hair  disor- 
dered, and  his  blue-striped  overalls  grimy,  a  telephone 
employe's  badge  in  his  greasy  cap,  and  carrying  an  assort- 
ment of  tools,  no  one  would  have  seen  in  George  le  Fay  any 
resemblance  to  a  pillar  of  a  secret  order  that  wore  trunkless 
animals  on  their  watch  chains. 

"Yes,  sir,  I  agree  with  you,  sir.    Quite  right,  sir;"  he 


190  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

replied  humbly  after  Eliason*s  diatribe.  "I'll  try  and  fix 
it  at  once,  sir." 

"  Right  side,  please.    What?  " 

"I'll  get  to  work  right  away;  must  locate  the  trouble, 
though.     Is  there  a  telephone  in  this  room?" 

When  it  was  shown  him,  he  seemed  to  give  it  the  atten- 
tion of  an  expert,  first,  however,  by  adroit  questions,  dis- 
covering that  no  one  in  the  room  knew  anything  at  all 
about  the  wiring  of  a  house  for  a  telephone  connection. 
After  shaking  and  patting  the  instrument,  he  got  down 
on  hands  and  knees  and  crawled  about  the  floor,  tapping 
walls  and  flooring,  and,  surreptitiously,  bits  of  furniture. 
It  was  not  long  before  he  became  aware  of  the  location  of 
the  safe  in  the  upright  desk. 

"Trouble's  not  in  this  room,"  he  said  authoritatively, 
rising  to  his  feet  and  dusting  off  his  hands.  "I'll  have  to 
go  over  the  whole  house,  sir,"  he  added  in  Eliason's  ear. 
"P'raps  the  trouble  comes  from  next  door.  I'll  look  into 
that,  too." 

He  started  out  but  drew  back  at  the  entrance  of  Stephen 
Janissary.  The  size  of  the  man  cowed  George  le  Fay  for 
the  moment;  he  was  no  friend  of  danger;  shirked  it  whenever 
possible;  and  the  cold  eyes  of  the  master  of  Amalgamated 
seemed  to  search  those  of  the  smaller  thief  as  if  stirred  by 
remembrance.  George  had  not  bargained  on  meeting 
Janissary.  He  was  immediately  thrown  into  a  cold  perspira- 
tion lest  the  other  recall  the  game  of  cards  which  had 
ended  both  disastrously  and  offensively  for  the  "plucked" 
one.  After  young  Stephen's  tirade,  there  would  be  little 
mercy  shown  his  partner. 


THE  SPIDER  191 

"Telephone  —  out  of  order,"  he  stammered.  "Trying 
to  locate  the  defective  wiring.     'Sense  me,  gentlemen." 

George  went  out  hurriedly.  Janissary,  for  the  moment 
oblivious  of  the  two  strangers,  sat  down  heavily  at  the 
flat-topped  desk,  and  placed  his  palms  to  his  head. 

"You  know  I  told  you,  Eliason.  Memories  all  the  time. 
Who  was  that  man?" 

"  A  workman,  sir;  telephone  company." 

"I  know;  but  his  name?" 

"  It  is  a  thing  to  ask,  Mr.  Janissary.  I  cannot  remember 
workmen's  names  even  if  they  tell  me.  But  you  are  for- 
getting Mr.  Graham  —  and  his  friend." 

Stephen  Janissary  raised  his  eyes  and  regarded  the  two 
men  almost  insolently,  nodding. 

"Oh,  yes,  Mr.  Graham,  I  remember.  So  you  thought 
you'd  come  and  see  me,  eh?  Well,  let's  talk  business  and 
be  quick  about  it.    My  time's  valuable." 

n 

THE  SILENT   MESSENGER 

Before  speaking  John  Graham  removed  with  some  osten- 
tation the  folded  sheets  of  fool's-cap  that  made  up  a  copy 
of  McKenna's  confession.  His  gesture,  to  overbalance 
the  insolent  stare  of  Janissary,  was  almost  grandiose.  In- 
deed, his  love  of  theatricalism  was  the  weakest  point  in 
the  alderman's  armour.  There  was  more  than  a  little  of  the 
old-school  statesman,  whose  favourite  place  to  rest  his  hand 
was  between  the  first  and  second  buttons  of  his  coat,  about 
John  Graham;  and  especially  when  he  found  himself  in  the 


192  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

presence  of  one  he  knew  to  be  his  mental  superior  as,  sub- 
consciously, he  believed  Janissary  to  be. 

"I  think  you  would  prefer  to  hear  what  I  have  to  say 
alone,  Mr.  Janissary,'*  he  said  finally. 

"  I  have  no  secrets  from  Mr.  Eliason.  Say  what  you  have 
to  say." 

"Then  he  must  be  a  very  great  hypocrite,"  retorted  John 
Graham  bitterly,  "for  he  has  just  been  holding  you  up  as 
an  example  to  the  youth  of  the  age  —  a  fine  example,  truly. 
I  thought  you  had  him  hoodwinked;  gave  him  credit  for 
sincerity." 

"Ah,  I  see;  your  object  in  coming  here  was  to  criticise 
me  and  my  staff  personally,"  said  Janissary  in  a  danger- 
ously cold  voice.  He  had  shown  to  poor  advantage  with 
the  younger  Stephen  in  their  passages  at  arms  on  the 
Atlantic  liner;  now  he  had  the  contemptuous  suavity  of  a 
master. 

"Well,"  he  continued,  "I  have  read  your  opinion  of  me 
and  my  friends  in  the  anarchistic  rags  that  print  such  stuff, 
and  I  prefer  them  in  print.  So  if  you  have  nothing  else  to 
say  to  me  I'm  simply  wasting  time " 

He  arose. 

"Sit  down,  Mr.  Janissary,"  broke  in  Canby  Kernahan. 
**We  didn't  come  here  for  personal  disagreements." 

"We?" 

"Mr.  Kernahan  of  the  Orb.'* 

"Ah!  My  lawyers  have  been  instructed  to  bring  action 
against  your  sheet  for  several  libels  fathered  over  your 
signature,  young  man.  I  admire  your  cheek  in  coming 
here.     Now  get  out!" 


THE  SProER  193 

Janissary  strode  to  the  door  and  threw  it  open. 

"K  he  goes,  I  go  too,"  declared  Graham. 

"As  you  like,  my  dear  man.  It  is  a  matter  of  indifference 
to  me  what  you  do,  but  I  refuse  to  discuss  any  matter  in 
the  presence  of  a  scribbler  for  the  press.    Suit  yourself." 

His  manner  was  utterly  indifferent.  He  sat  down  and 
began  to  turn  over  some  personal  letters  that  lay  on  his 
desk,  finding  among  them  a  small  article  carefully  wrapped 
in  brown  paper  and  addressed  to  him  in  the  shaking,  unedu- 
cated handwriting  of  a  person  evidently  long  past  the  prime 
of  life.  He  held  it  in  his  hand  while  he  turned  to  survey 
the  two  men. 

"Make  up  your  mind,"  he  said  coldly.  "lam  a 
very  busy  man.  But  again  I  repeat,  the  newspaper  man 
must  leave  the  room  before  I  grant  you  an  interview,  Mr. 
Graham." 

"I'll  go,  Graham,"  said  Canby  Kemahan.  "I'll  wait 
down  stairs." 

Janissary  nodded  to  Eliason  who  departed  by  another 
door-way  that  led  to  his  own  private  room  next  door.  The 
two  doors  closed  almost  synchronously. 

Janissary  laid  down  the  little  parcel  with  which  he  had 
been  toying.  Graham  drew  up  a  chair  at  the  other  side 
of  the  flat-topped  desk. 

"You  see  this,  Mr.  Janissary?" 

"A  superfluous  question." 

"McKenna's  confession,  Mr.  Janissary.  Care  to 
read  it?" 

"  Not  unless  you  wish  me  to." 

"I  do  wish  it." 


194  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"Hand  it  over  then  and  don't  talk  so  much  about  it 
or  I  may  refuse." 

"I  think  not,"  said  Graham  triumphantly  as  the  paper 
passed  into  Janissary's  hands.  It  was  read  with  an  utterly 
impassive  pair  of  eyes,  and  handed  back  without  emotion. 

" I've  read  it,  Graham.     Well?  " 

"The  franchise  is  up  before  the  council  now.  You 
bought  me  out  on  the  veto,  but  I'll  beat  you  with  the  fran- 
chise.    That  won't  be  granted,  Mr.  Janissary." 

"No?" 

"No.  For  if  it  is,  I'll  carry  this  confession  before  the 
grand  jury  and  secure  an  indictment  against  McKenna  and 
other  aldermen;  I  have  his  permission.  But  I  shan't  need 
to  do  so.  Showing  this  confession  to  the  bribe-takers  will 
be  enough  to  guarantee  them  voting  for  the  franchise.  I've 
come  for  those  five  sworn  statements  against  McKenna." 

"Yes?" 

"Yes.  I've  promised  him  immunity.  With  those  state- 
ments in  my  hands,  you'll  see  that  the  grand  jury  never 
acts  on  that  manslaughter  indictment.  And  if  you  don't 
give  them  to  me,  I'll  publish  this  confession  in  every  paper 
in  America  that  you  haven't  subsidized.  If  you  give  me 
those  sworn  statements  I'll  use  it  only  to  frighten  my  fellow 
aldermen.  I'm  willing  to  sacrifice  unmasking  you  to  pro- 
tect McKenna.  So  long  as  I  have  that  franchise  thrown 
out,  I'll  forego  the  personal  pleasure  of  doing  you  an  injury. 
Come,  I  mean  business,  Mr.  Janissary." 

Janissary  sat  back  in  his  chair,  still  toying  carelessly 
with  the  little  parcel. 

"Graham,"  he    said    after    a    moment's    consideration. 


THE  SPIDER  195 

"I  see  I  shall  have  to  break  you.  You've  been  annoying 
me  for  some  time,  Graham,  and  I've  had  enough  of  it. 
Now  let  me  tell  you  something:  If  you  go  through  with 
this  thing,  you  will  never  hold  oflSce  again.  More  than 
that,  I  shall  personally  see  that  you  will  find  little  profit 
in  being  a  wholesale  dealer  in  coal,  which  I  believe  is  your 
business.  I'll  break  you,  Graham,  and  you'll  end  your 
days  in  either  the  morgue  or  the  poor-house  —  depends  on 
your  courage. 

"On  the  other  hand,"  he  added,  just  as  coldly  careless, 
"a  man  as  honest  and  as  earnest  as  you  has  his  value. 
I  need  an  auditor  for  Amalgamated  Securities — ^the  present 
one  thinks  a  little  too  much  of  his  personal  gain.  You 
would  be  an  ideal  man.  The  work  is  perfectly  straight; 
you  would  be  asked  to  do  nothing  that  would  conflict  with 
your  principles  and  the  salary  is  twenty  thousand  a  year  — 
better  than  morgues  and  poor-houses.  Now  believe  me, 
Graham,  when  I  tell  you  that  I  don't  do  this  because  I  have 
any  fear  of  you.  You  give  me  a  little  discomfort  and  you 
cause  me  to  spend  more  money  than  is  absolutely  necessary. 
I  could  admire  your  integrity  if  it  was  exercised  in  my  in- 
terests; used  against  me  it  is  an  annoyance  to  which  I'm 
going  to  put  a  stop:  do  you  comprehend  —  fully?  If  so, 
all  you've  got  to  do  is  drop  this  fight  against  the  franchise. 
In  exchange  I'll  give  you  the  statements  regarding  the 
murder  of  Kingston  by  McKenna.  He  may  come  back  and 
we  won't  molest  him.  That  is  my  final  answer  to  anything 
you  may  suggest.  Come  in  to-morrow  if  you  decide  to 
accept.  If  not,  don't  bother.  But,  believe  me,  in  either 
case,  that  franchise  is  going  to  go  through,  and  all  the 


196  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

confessions  you  may  publish  won't  do  you  an  ounce  of  good. 
That  franchise  is  going  through.    You  understand?" 

"We'll  see  if  it  does,  Mr.  Janissary,  after  this  confes- 
sion is  published  to-morrow,"  said  Graham  in  a  voice 
that  trembled  with  the  white  heat  of  insulted  honesty 
and  pride. 

"The  confession  of  a  criminal  fleeing  from  justice  — 
lot  of  effect  that  will  have,"  said  Janissary,  smiling  coldly. 

"I'll  get  my  indictment  with  it  just  the  same  and  bring 
him  back  as  state's  evidence.  I'll  expose  your  plot  against 
him  so  that  you  won't  dare  use  those  statements." 

"What  statements  have  we  got?  I  know  nothing  of  any 
statements." 

Janissary  sat  back  and  smiled  as  he  noted  with  satisfaction 
the  effect  this  shot  had  upon  the  alderman. 

"You  see  it  is  possible  McKenna's  constituents  did  not 
know  that  there  was  an  indictment  against  him  when  he 
was  elected,"  continued  Janissary,  "so  that  when  they 
discovered  it  and  it  was  brought  to  the  attention  of  the  party 
leaders  and  they  refused  to  aid  McKenna  against  the  laws 
of  his  country,  he  sought  to  revenge  himself  against  them 
by  leaving  behind  a  false  confession.  Do  you  apprehend 
the  situation,  Mr.  Graham?" 

Graham  raised  his  eyes  and  regarded  Janissary  steadily, 
a  look  of  burning  hatred  gradually  replacing  his  steady  stare 
as  the  cold  sneer  of  Janissary  spread  into  a  smile  and  was 
succeeded  by  a  mocking  laugh. 

"I  see  that  you  do  apprehend,  Graham.  Clever  fellow  — 
perfect  jewel  of  apprehension.  A  chain  is  no  stronger  than 
its  weakest  link,  you  know,  Graham.    That  confession  you 


THE  SPIDER  197 

hold  is  not  a  very  strong  chain,  Graham;  lacks  five  links. 
You  call  them  statements;  eh,  Graham?" 

"You  deny  there  were  ever  any  such  statements?" 

"To  my  knowledge,  Graham,  none.  Mad  dream  of  a 
guilty  man  endeavouring  to  blackguard  those  who  stood 
for  uprightness  and  law  and  order  —  virtues  you  admire, 
Graham.    Eh?" 

He  knew  the  teeth  of  his  enemy  were  drawn  now,  and  he 
could  afford  to  indulge  his  cruel  humour.  He  arose  and 
walked  toward  the  door. 

"Come  in  to-morrow,  and  the  auditor's  job  is  yours. 
Stop  fighting  windmills.  Why,  you  fool,"  he  added  with  sud- 
den fierceness,  "why  waste  hard  work  and  lofty  endeavour 
for  those  cattle  you  call  the  public?  Don't  you  know  they 
always  bite  the  hand  that  feeds  them  and  Uck  the  one  that 
beats  them  down?  They  could  have  this  honest  govern- 
ment you  prate  so  much  about  if  they  chose,  but  they  are 
dogs;  each  one  is  thinking  how  he  can  bite  the  other  dog 
and  escape  scot-free  with  his  bone.  If  we  did  not  rule  them, 
they'd  be  eternally  bickering  and  squabbling  with  one 
another.  Come  out  of  the  rain,  Graham;  get  into  the 
shelter  that  brains  provided  for  clever  men.  Do  what 
every  one  else  is  doing  and  get  a  larger  bone  than  the 
other  dogs." 

"You  have  called  them  correctly.  Janissary,"  cried  the 
other,  in  the  shrill,  impotent  wrath  of  the  conquered. 
"Yes,  dogs,  dogs,  dogs,  and  you  are  the  chief  dog  of  them 
all  —  the  biggest  thief,  the  greatest  liar  —  yes,  by  God, 
even  the  worst  murderer  of  the  whole  kennel  of  dogs. 
Dogs,  dogs,  dogs  —  you've  got  them  right,  Janissary,  and 


198  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

I've  got  you  right,  and  I'll  make  you  sufiFer  yet  —  I'll  make 
you  suffer  yet." 

It  was  with  the  same  assurance  of  victory,  the  same 
carelessness  of  fear  that  distinguished  young  Stephen,  the 
absolute  supremacy  of  power,  that  Stephen  Janissary  laid 
a  heavy  hand  on  the  alderman's  shoulder. 

"You  poor  fool,"  he  said  curtly.  "I  overrated  you. 
You  don't  even  know  when  you  are  beaten.  You  are  of  no 
value  to  me  after  all,  and  I  have  listened  to  your  ravings 
long  enough.  My  patience  is  exhausted  now.  The  door's 
in  the  same  place  it  was  when  you  came  in  —  better  find  it ! 
Or,  in  the  case  of  a  dullard  like  you,  best  to  point  it  out,  I 
guess." 

He  turned  the  knob  and  moved  back  of  it  for  Graham 
to  pass  him.  But,  as  he  did  so,  he  saw,  outside  in  the  hall, 
Canby  Kernahan  in  conversation  with  a  young  lady  in  a 
small  sable  toque,  the  coat  which  matched  it  dragging  a 
scant  two  inches  from  the  floor.  They  were  leaning  over 
the  balustrade  and  she  was  listening,  apparently  much 
interested,  while  the  newspaper  man  talked.  She  turned 
now  at  the  sound  of  the  door  opening  and  came  directly 
toward  him. 

"I  wanted  to  see  you,  Mr.  Janissary,"  she  said  with 
nothing  in  her  tone  to  indicate  however,  that  the  sight  of 
him  would  be  conducive  to  pleasure.  "  But  Mr.  Kernahan 
told  me  you  were  busy.    Are  you  free  now?" 

"Quite,  Decima,"  he  answered.  "You  got  my  'phone 
call,  I  suppose?     Come  in." 

She  passed  over  the  threshold  but  saw  that  John  Graham 
still  lingered.     Her   narrow,   Japanese-like   eyes   widened 


THE  SPIDER  199 

at  the  sight  of  him  and  she  held  out  her  hand,  frankly 
pleased. 

"Mr.  Graham,  isn't  it?  Mr.  Kernahan  has  just  been 
telling  me  all  about  your  perfectly  bully  fight.  I  do  hope 
you  win,  yes,  even  if  it  is  against  Mr.  Janissary." 

There  was  too  much  of  the  eternal  feminine  about  her, 
however,  not  to  placate  instinctively  the  other  man,  even 
though  she  really  disliked  him  as  she  so  many  times  had 
declared  to  Stephen  that  she  did. 

"You  know  you've  so  much,  Mr.  Janissary;  you  could  af- 
ford to  lose  this  fight  just  to  give  Mr.  Graham  a  reputation." 

She  was  one  of  the  few  persons  who  could  say  what  she 
liked  to  Stephen  Janissary;  even  her  father,  old  Ben  Duress, 
had  insulted  him  with  impunity,  for,  deep  down  in  his  heart. 
Janissary  had  that  feeling  of  social  inequality  born  of  early 
respect  for  the  name  of  Duress  and  never  quite  banished 
from  his  system. 

"  I'm  sorry,  but  Mr.  Graham  will  have  to  climb  the  ladder 
to  fame  in  some  other  way  than  over  my  shoulders,"  said 
Janissary.  "  Incidentally,  I've  concluded  my  business  with 
him;  I  don't  know  why  he  lingers.  Possibly  he  is  waiting 
for  a  coarser  affront  than  any  I  have  at  my  command;  in 
my  humble  way  I've  done  the  best  I  could  in  insults." 

"Oh,  go  on,  Mr.  Janissary,  give  him  those  papers  he 
wants  so  that  poor  McKenna  can  come  back  home  and  not 
be  harmed;  please,  to  oblige  me,"  she  added  coaxingly, 
putting  a  little  gloved  hand  on  his  shoulder.  Janissary 
laughed  shortly. 

"So  they  make  women  their  confidants;  well,  well!  So 
you  are  actually  going  at  last,  Mr.  Graham?  " 


200  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

In  truth  Graham  had  been  in  too  much  of  a  daze  to  move. 
He  had  come  with  his  cards  all  carefully  displayed.  He 
believed  he  was  holding  a  sure  winning  hand,  but  had  found 
that  instead  of  holding  five,  as  he  imagined,  he  lacked  the 
one  necessary  to  play  the  hand  at  all.  He  had  come  in 
state  as  a  conqueror  and  now  departed  in  a  captive's  chains. 
The  effort  to  bribe  him  had  raised  his  own  estimation  of 
himself  and  given  him  a  chance  to  display  the  somewhat 
theatrical  honesty  that  he  loved;  now  his  enemy  held  him  in 
so  little  value  that  he  had  withdrawn  the  bribe. 

The  tears  were  close  to  his  eyes;  he  was  like  a  child, 
burning  under  the  lawless  injustice  of  those  so  much  older 
and  stronger  than  himself  that  he  was  unable  to  resent  it 
even  in  words  lest  his  voice  become  choked  with  tears  that 
would  be  an  acknowledgement  of  utter  defeat.  So  he  moved 
silently  out  of  the  room  and  joined  Kernahan,  still  speaking 
no  word. 

"Wait  for  me  downstairs,"  called  Decima  after  Kern- 
ahan.     "I  want  to  tell  you  something  before  you  go." 

Janissary  shut  the  door.  So  pleased  was  he  with  his 
trimnph  over  Graham  that  he  ignored  Decima's  speech  to 
the  enemy.  Besides,  he  had  always  striven,  as  far  as  his 
rude  masterfulness  would  permit,  to  win  this  girl's  respect 
and  admiration,  for  she  was  the  only  link  that  bound  him 
to  the  past.  He  remembered  the  day  of  her  birth  —  a 
few  months  after  that  of  young  Stephen's  —  and  he  had 
actually  gone  down  on  his  knees  believing  that  she  had  come 
in  answer  to  his  prayer  for  a  mate  to  his  son  and  heir. 
In  the  two  years  that  had  followed,  he  remembered  pleasant 
days  in  sunny  Washington  Square  when  the  babies  attended 


THE  SPIDER  201 

by  their  respective  nurses  cooed  side  by  side  in  their  per- 
ambulators and  he  sat  with  old  Ben  Duress,  her  father,  no 
longer  dreaming  in  teas,  sugars,  coffees,  and  spices,  but  of 
the  beginning  of  that  world-conquest  which  their  heirs  would 
carry  on.  The  irony  of  it!  Had  there  been  no  little  Ste- 
phen, he  might  ever  have  been  content  to  rule  the  firm  of 
Janissary  and  Son;  but  that  was  not  enough  for  his  son. 
He  must  give  him  something  greater  to  begin  with,  for  he 
was  to  marry  Ben  Duress's  daughter  and  move  in  social 
circles  that  would  ever  be  mystically  closed  to  his  father. 
Why  it  was  not  until  the  night  of  the  boy's  birth  that  he 
had  even  thought  of  amalgamation  with  the  girl's  father! 

He  roused  himself  from  his  reveries,  remembering  Decima 
was  there  by  his  request. 

"To-morrow  night,"  he  said,  almost  mechanically  for  his 
thoughts  were  still  in  the  past,  "to-morrow  night,  you  are 
twenty-one,  Dessie;  twenty-one  and  your  own  mistress  — 
mistress  of  half  a  million.  No,  more  than  that,  Dessie. 
It  was  half  a  million  when  Ben  died.  Perhaps  it's  a  million 
now  —  I  don't  know;  haven't  had  much  time  to  pay  atten- 
tion, but  it's  been  well  invested  —  invested  as  only  I  could 
have  invested  it.  That  coat  now,"  he  said,  rousing  himself 
suflBciently  to  note  the  sables  in  which  she  was  draped 
"that  came  from  no  half-million's  income.  How  much 
would  that  be,  Dessie?" 

She  perched  herself  daintily  on  the  arm  of  a  chair, 
and  pursed  her  lips  with  an  expression  half  of  pleasure,  half 
of  vexation. 

"  I  shouldn't  have  bought  it,  but  it  was  so  beautiful,  and 
Isabel  Livingstone,  who  is  a  cat  if  there  ever  was  one,"  she 


202  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

explained  in  frank  parenthesis,  "was  bragging  so  much 
about  hers  that  when  I  found  I  could  get  this  for  seven  thou- 
sand—  awfully  cheap  you  know  —  full  length  and  real 
Russian  —  I  couldn't  resist  the  temptation.  Oh,  my  in- 
come; why  I  haven't  noticed  particularly  —  I  suppose  I've 
had  more  than  forty  thousand  during  the  past  year." 

"And  in  government  bonds  you  would  realize  just  about 
eighteen  thousand  per  annum,"  said  Janissary  rather 
grimly,  as  he  remembered  some  of  his  ward's  printed  re- 
marks concerning  "trusts,"  "octopuses"  —  which  of  course 
was  violently  incorrect  —  "corrupt  corporations,"  and 
the  like.  "I  suppose  you'll  invest  it  that  way  when  you 
get  control  of  it,  eh?'* 

"Indeed,  then,  I  shall  not,"  she  returned,  the  sable  toque 
tossing  a  little.  "I'm  going  to  invest  enough  to  give  me 
five  thousand  a  year  in  some  safe  thing,  and  I'm  going  to 
use  the  remainder  of  my  capital  to  build  some  more  model 
tenements.  Oh,  I  know  I'll  have  to  mortgage  them  to  do  it, 
but  they  actually  pay  two  and  one  half  per  cent.  That 
isn't  much,  but  still  it's  something  to  think  that  you're 
giving  all  those  poor  people  clean  rooms,  fresh  air,  sanitary 
plumbing,  and  bath-tubs " 

"Which  they'll  probably  use  to  store  coal  in,"  he  inter- 
jected with  a  grim  smile.  "Well,  you  can  thank  me  for 
having  provided  you  with  the  opportunity  to  make  a  bigger 
fool  of  yourself  by  making  more  money  for  you.  But  the  rea- 
son I  'phoned  you  was  to  say  that  I'm  giving  a  dinner  in  your 
honour  to-morrow  night  —  least  I  can  do  as  your  guardian." 

"Will  you  have  a  lot  of  very  rich  men  there  if  I  come?" 
she  asked  eagerly. 


THE  SPIDER  203 

"I  didn't  know  you  were  so  mercenary,"  he  said,  startled 
into  a  laugh. 

"Oh,  now,  don't  be  nasty,  Mr.  Janissary.  You  know 
why  I  want  to  see  them  —  to  get  them  interested  in  my 
model  tenements.  I'm  sure  some  of  them  will  subscribe 
even  if  you  are  so  hateful  about  it.     Who'll  be  there?" 

"Must  I  actually  drive  a  bargain  with  you?  Well,  then, 
choose  your  company;  there  isn't  a  man  on  the  Street  or 
who  counts  at  all  in  New  York  who  won't  break  any  engage- 
ment to  dine  with  me  if  I  request  it." 

The  statement  was  made  in  no  egotistical  manner;  it 
was  a  mere  fact  of  which  she  was  as  well  aware  as  he. 

"All  right,  I'll  leave  it  to  you.  Have  the  richest  ones, 
though  —  and  their  wives.  Especially,'*  she  added  with 
feminine  cunning,  "  if  they  are  very  rich  and  aren't  in  — 
you  Jknow  —  haven't  been  taken  up.  Recent  people,  you 
understand;  people  who  want  to  be  somebodies " 

"In  society,  you  mean?"  he  asked,  frowning. 

"  Why  —  if  you  want  to  put  it  that  way  —  yes.  A  lot 
of  the  women  will  make  their  husbands  subscribe  if  I  let 
them  think  they'll  have  their  names  on  the  board  of  patron- 
esses along  with  Mrs.  Livingstone  and  Isabel  and  the 
Vieles  and  Corlears  and  Cortlandts  and  so  on.  Oh,  I 
know  it  sounds  like  graft,"  she  added  defensively,  "but, 
after  all,  they'll  get  something  they'd  have  to  pay  for  any- 
how and  besides  they'll  be  doing  a  lot  of  good.  How  many 
people?" 

"Oh,  a  small  afiFair,  Dessie;  not  more  than  fifteen  couples, 
I  should  say." 

"Very  well  —  I'll  come.    And,  now,  as  a  personal  favour 


204  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

to  me,"  she  went  on,  changing  the  subject  abruptly,  "please 
give  poor  Mr.  Graham  those  statements  he  wants  so  much. 
He  looked  so  sad  when  he  went  out  of  here  a  few  moments 
ago.  You're  such  a  big  man,  Mr.  Janissary,  I  should  think 
you  could  afford  to  be  generous." 

Janissary's  tone  in  answering  her  was  the  complete 
antithesis  of  the  lighter  one  he  had  used  a  moment 
before.  The  cold  sneer  that  was  almost  habitual  with  him 
returned  to  his  lips  and  eyes. 

"You  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about,  young 
woman.  Don't  mix  in  affairs  you  don't  understand.  This 
man  Graham  has  been  blackguarding  me  and  my  friends 
in  the  dirty  yellow  press  for  a  month  or  more  now.  Do 
you  think  I  am  going  to  give  him  material  for  further  slan- 
ders? Why,  Dessie,"  he  added,  and  she  shrank  a  little  at 
the  cruelty  that  seemed  to  leap  from  his  eyes  as  he  crumpled 
in  his  hand  the  little  paper  parcel  with  which  he  had  toyed 
ever  since  he  first  had  observed  it,  "he  called  me  a  liar, 
a  thief,  and  a  murderer  —  not  to  mention  a  dog  and 
several  other  choice  epithets  —  right  here  in  this  very 
room.     Why '* 

He  laughed  harshly. 

" — it's  a  wonder  I  didn't  take  him  by  the  throat  and 
shake  him  until  he  found  out  which  one  of  us  was  the  dog. 
He  comes  to  me  with  threats  —  threats !  Threats  from  him ! 
It's  laughable,  but  I  can't  quite  laugh  at  it.  But  then," 
he  said,  subsiding,  "he's  so  small.  .  .  .  And  I  can't 
afford  to  be  angry  with  small  men.  If  I  paid  any  atten- 
tion to  the  yelps  of  all  these  envious  curs,  I'd  have  no  time 
to  rule  them.** 


THE  SPIDER  205 

There  was  exultation  in  his  tone,  exaltation  in  his  eye. 
It  came  to  Decima  Duress  in  that  instant  that  she  had  seen 
such  a  look  in  the  eye  of  a  madman  once  —  that  identical 
gleam  of  maniacy.     She  shuddered  and  turned  away. 

"Rule  them;  rule  them;  rule  them!"  he  muttered,  and 
then,  remembering  her  presence,  crossed  the  room  to  face 
her  again.  "If  the  fools  only  knew!  Why  I've  only  got 
to  lift  that  telephone  and  call  him,  and  the  President  of  these 
United  States  —  this  glorious  land  of  liberty;  the  fools  have 
a  song  about  that,  Dessie  —  will  come  to  this  room  as  fast 
as  special  trains  and  motor-cars  can  bring  him.  And  a 
rat  like  this  Graham  dares  to  threaten  me!  .  .  .  When 
I  rule  them  .  .  .  all.  Why  no  man  has  bested  me: 
no  man  ever  kept  me  from  what  I  wanted,  and  no  man  ever 
shall." 

He  threw  down  the  telephone  and  sat  moodily  in  his 
chair.  Decima,  with  all  the  timidity  that  comes  to  those 
who  both  fear  and  hate,  approached  him  and  put  the 
instrument  in  its  place. 

"I'll  come  to-morrow  night,"  she  said  in  a  very  small 
voice  and  went  out  hurriedly.  Had  she  loved  this  man, 
she  would  have  exulted  in  his  power.  Caring  nothing  for 
him,  his  words  stung  her  into  a  realization  of  inferiority 
and  helplessness  that  was  intolerable.  So  Delilah  must 
have  felt  in  the  presence  of  Samson;  no  other  motive  could 
have  brought  her  to  shear  away  those  strength-giving  locks. 
She  raged  in  her  helplessness. 

Exhausted  by  his  outbreak  of  fury.  Janissary  sat  for  a  long 
time  quite  silent,  his  mind  almost  a  blank  as  is  frequently 
the  case  when  the  brain  sleeps  in  a  body  that  is  awake 


206  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

resting  after  a  strain.  In  such  moods,  the  abstraction  is 
aided  by  the  concentration  of  the  gaze  upon  a  single  object; 
in  this  case,  it  was  that  small,  unopened  parcel  in  the  hand- 
writing of  an  aged  and  uneducated  man  that  had  given  his 
fingers  employment  since  the  first  words  had  passed  between 
him  and  Graham.  Coming  out  of  his  state  of  mental  flac- 
cidity,  he  wondered  what  the  parcel  contained  and  why 
he  had  not  opened  it  before;  and,  reaching  out  his  hand,  he 
picked  at  the  brown  paper  wrapping  until  it  fell  away,  re- 
vealing a  small,  card-board  box. 

He  opened  it  and  there  tumbled  out  a  tiny  bit  of  knitted 
silk,  tied  with  a  bow  of  white  ribbon,  and  soled  with  the 
softest  felt  —  the  white  now  tarnished  to  a  hue  that  was 
almost  brown,  the  ribbon  so  rotten  that  bits  crumbled  away 
at  his  touch. 

How  could  such  a  thing  have  become  mixed  with  his 
personal  mail.?  He  lifted  the  brown  paper  wrapping  to 
read  the  address. 

There  was  no  mistake.  His  name  was  there  right  enough. 
Curiously,  he  wondered  that  the  writer  had  not  seen  fit  to 
prefix  a  **Mr.'*or  add  an  "Esquire" — it  was  not  very  respect- 
ful to  address  him  with  neither,  especially,  as  he  now  noted 
from  the  writing,  when  the  parcel  had  come  from  a 
common  man. 

Old,  too,  very  old;  his  own  handwriting  was  getting 
crabbed  like  that. 

He  searched  mechamcally  for  some  letter  that  would 
explain  the  peculiar  present  but  there  was  none.  Then  he 
bent  over  the  fragile  thing  peering  at  it,  somehow,  in  dull 
foreboding. 


THE  SPIDER  207 

As  men  in  nightmares  choke  and  try  to  scream  for  help, 
so  suddenly  did  Stephen  Janissary.  A  great  pain  came  to 
his  eyes  for  they  were  straining,  straining,  ever  wider;  nor 
could  he  bring  down  his  tongue  from  the  roof  of  his  mouth 
where  it  lay,  a  hot  burning  thing.  In  his  agony,  words 
he  had  spoken  but  a  moment  before  blazed  before  him. 

"No  man  has  kept  me  from  what  I  wanted  and  no  man 
ever  shall!" 

Yet  here  was  the  silent  messenger  to  give  him  the  lie; 
the  messenger  from  an  enemy  who  had  struck  to  a  heart 
that  no  one  else  had  ever  found;  who  had  robbed  him  of  all 
that  was  dear  and  had  trampled  his  pride  in  the  dust. 

Eliason,  in  the  next  room,  heard  the  frenzied  scream  of 
one  on  whom  has  fallen  the  tortures  of  the  damned. 
Alarmed,  he  flung  open  the  door.  Stephen  Janissary's 
head  was  down  upon  the  flat-topped  desk,  his  arms  hiding 
his  eyes  from  a  sight  too  horrible! 

Yet  all  there  was  to  see  was  the  shoe  of  a  little  (child. 


CHAPTER  VII 
DESTINY'S  MAGIC  WHEEL 


I   WILL   REPAY 

SO,  OLD  idiot,"  said  Axtell  viciously,  "you  are  well 
enough  to  go  out  of  the  house  and  stay  for  an  hour, 
are  you?  Come  near  the  fire  if  you  dare  and  I'll  push  you 
into  it,  you  deceiving  old  imbecile." 

The  afternoon  was  a  cold  one;  and,  since  the  old  house 
was  provided  with  no  other  heat  than  that  which  emanated 
from  the  fireplaces,  the  only  comfortable  part  of  the  first- 
floor  front  room  was  entirely  hogged  by  The  Wolf,  who 
had  ordered  the  servant  to  push  his  chair  into  such  a  posi- 
tion that  his  back  faced  the  fire;  which  position  he  guarded 
with  a  long,  thin,  brass  poker,  prodding  at  Van  Tromp 
with  it  whenever  that  worthy  made  any  attempt  to  get 
within  the  zone  of  heat. 

"Didn't,  Mr.  Axtell;  didn't  go  out;  servant  tells  lies 
as  one  with  no  religion  would,  bein'  envious  of  me  that 
reads  th'  Good  Book  reg  'lar  and  is  in  all  his  ways  accordin' 
to  what  it  teaches.  It's  cold,"  he  shivered,  "c-o-o-o-l-d, 
Mr.  Axtell.     You  wouldn't  have  one  freeze  what  had  al- 

208 


DESTINY'S  MAGIC  WHEEL  209 

ways  respected  and  served  you,  even  when  you  wanted 
spices  on  which  there  was  no  profit  nohow  bein'  kept  only 
to  oblige.  Oh,  it's  so  cold.  Let  old  Trompey  be,  Mr. 
Axtell;  he's  so  cold." 

"Wasn't  so  cold  you  couldn't  leave  the  house  and  stay 
away  for  a  full  hour  yesterday.  You  deceiving,  traitorous 
old  hound,"  grinned  Axtell,  pushing  out  the  poker  threaten- 
ingly. He  could  not  have  lifted  it  an  inch,  but 
was  quite  able  to  move  it  back  and  forth.  "You 
like  being  cold  so  well  that  I  'm  going  to  get  you  used  to  it  — 
because  I  shall  turn  you  out  into  the  streets  to-morrow  like 
the  wicked  old  uncle  in  the  play.     Am  I  wicked,  old  idiot?** 

"No-o-o-o,  Mr.  Axtell,"  rephed  the  old  man,  his  teeth 
chattering.  "You're  kind  and  generous  to  old  Trompey 
for  which  he  remembers  you  in  his  prayers  every  night  of 
his  life  and  for  which  the  Good  Lord  will  repay  you  even  a 
thousandfold,  bein'  according  to  the  Good  Book " 

"Well,  will  I  be  wicked  when  I  turn  you  out  into  the 
streets.  Grandfather  Goose,  eh?  Because  you  love  the 
streets  so  much,  I  'm  going  to  let  you  get  better  acquainted  with 
them.     Get  away;  get  away  from  the  fire  or  I'll  maim  you." 

He  paused  in  the  act  of  pushing  out  the  poker  to  its  full 
length,  and  looked  up  to  scowl  at  George  le  Fay,  who,  his 
face  red  and  shiny  from  the  cold,  his  body  encased  in  a 
huge  overcoat  of  blue  Melton,  his  hands  in  fur-lined  gloves, 
which  he  stripped  off,  approached  the  fire  to  warm  himself. 
Le  Fay  glanced  up  to  note  the  shivering  Van  Tromp  at 
the  other  side  of  the  table. 

"Here,  Trompey,  you  old  simp,"  he  said  with  rude  kind- 
ness.    "What 're  you  doing?  Playing  the  castanets?    Look 


210  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

out;  your  false  teeth  '11  drop  out  if  you  don't  stop.  Come 
over  by  the  fire,  old  bag  of  bones,  where  you  belong." 

Van  Tromp  advanced,  looking  entreatingly  at  Axtell, 
who,  with  his  usual  vicious  grin,  took  careful  aim  at  the 
grocer's  stomach  and  launched  out.  George  le  Fay, 
noting  the  movement,  stopped  the  poker's  billiard  cue  prog- 
ress and  returned  it  to  its  place  in  the  brass  bowl  on  the 
hearth. 

"Say,  you're  a  fine  old  son  of  a  gun,  ain't  you,  Axtell?" 
he  remarked  scornfully.  "I'm  a  mangy  dog  if  you  ain't 
a  pippin!  I  believe  you  just  naturally  like  to  hurt  people. 
Leave  the  poor  old  boob  alone,  why  don't  you?  And  say, 
d'you  think  you're  entitled  to  all  that  fire?  Git  in  your 
place!" 

He  pushed  the  high-backed  chair  containing  the  help- 
less Axtell  into  its  usual  position  on  the  left  side  of  the 
hearth,  pulling  Van  Tromp 's  to  the  right  side. 

"Come  and  sit  down,  Trompey,"  he  said.  "Stop  making 
faces  at  him,  Axtell.    What's  he  done?" 

"I'm  to  be  pushed  about  by  a  cheap,  petty-larceny  *gun' 
like  you,  am  I,  George  le  Fay?"  snarled  Axtell,  writhing 
in  interrupted  spite.  "A  fellow  who,  if  it  wasn't  for  me, 
would  be  'stalling'  on  the  *  shorts'  for  a  lousy  gun  mob  —  a 
*  stool-pigeon'  at  heart,  a  rat  bellows  mender  of  a " 

"Never  mind  what  I  was,"  said  George  le  Fay  flushing. 
"I'm  helping  to  support  a  no-good,  fault-finding  crab  of  a 
cripple,  ain't  I?  That's  good  enough.  And  say,  I'm  here 
on  business  to  see  Stephen,  so  let's  drop  all  this  small  talk. 
Sit  down,  Trompey,  before  your  fingers  fall  oflf  from  the 
cold.    What  have  you  been  doing  anyhow?" 


DESTINY'S  MAGIC  WHEEL  211 

Van  Tromp  came  a  little  closer  to  the  fire,  but  did  not  dare 
to  seat  himself  until  Axtell,  tiring  of  useless  malice  for  the 
moment,  nodded  surly  permission. 

"He  went  out  yesterday  and  stayed  an  hour,"  he  ex- 
plained shortly,  his  mind  now  on  the  matter  of  which  George 
had  spoken.     "Have  you  *  sounded'  the  Janissary  *  joint'?'* 

At  the  sound  of  the  hated  name.  Van  Tromp  forgot  to 
warm  his  freezing  hands,  and  leaned  forward,  his  eyes  burn- 
ing with  eagerness. 

"Got  it  all  over  with  'bout  this  time  yesterday  evening," 
replied  George  le  Fay.  "Telephone  *  stall';  they  fell  for 
it  like  winking.  Not  a  bit  of  trouble.  But,  say !  I  ran  into 
old  Janissary  himself  and  it  threw  a  scare  into  me,  I  can  tell 
you!" 

"You  always  were  a  courageous  sucker,  George,"  sneered 
Axtell,  glad  of  the  opportimity  of  paying  Le  Fay  back  for 
his  peremptory  handling  of  the  situation  on  his  entrance. 

"Never  mind  about  my  courage, Wulf,"  returned  George 
with  some  asperity.  "I  don't  throw  any  *bull*  around 
like  some  guys  I  know  —  some  of  these  fearless  mutts  who 
are  ashamed  to  fight  less  than  three  at  a  time  but  start  to 
'squeal'  the  minute  a  copper  taps  them  on  the  shoulder* 
This  Janissary  is  a  big  guy  —  big  as  a  house  —  and  besides 
if  he  ever  took  a  dislike  to  a  gink  like  me  and  had  him  up 
before  the  court  the  judge  'ud  about  throw  the  book  at  me 
and  tell  me  to  add  up  the  sentences  in  it.  Guess  you  for- 
get the  time  Stevey  and  me  'beat'  him  for  that  bunch  of 
*  dough'  on  the  Mauradriatic;  'sposin  he'd  *a  remembered 
me  and  then  seen  me  posing  around  as  a  telephone  work- 
man!   I  guess  he'd  a  fell  for  it  —  not!    But  nix  on  all  this 


212  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

small  talk;  I  got  the  goods  for  Steve  and  what's  better  'n 
that,  I've  got  the  time  for  him  to  go  and  git  the  stuff!" 

"Good  enough,  George,"  said  a  voice  behind  him. 
"Quick  work!  I  was  expecting  you  had  when  I  found  your 
'phone  call  at  Canary 's." 

Stephen  threw  off  his  fur-lined  coat  as  he  spoke,  tossing 
it  on  the  back  of  a  chair  and,  placing  his  top  hat  on  the  table, 
drew  up  a  chair  between  Van  Tromp  and  Axtell,  facing 
Le  Fay  who  was  standing  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  warminf 
his  hands  which  were  behind  him. 

"Well,  it's  to-night,  if  you  want  to  know,"  returnee 
George.  "  Yesterday, whilelwasworking  there,  I  heard  some 
of  the  footmen  talking  about  a  dinner  they  were  going  to 
give  to-night,  so  I  got  to  thinking  about  it  to-day  and  I  got 
into  that  telephone 'harness*  again  and  went  around  to  the 
house  to  ask  'em  if  the  'phones  were  working  all  right  now; 
and,  of  course,  I  saw  from  the  way  the  kitchen  looked  that 
something  was  goin'  to  be  pulled  off;  dozens  of  chickens, 
a  round  of  beef  as  big  as  me,  a  million  dollars'  worth  of  stuff 
for  soups,  and  enough  paiS  de  foie  gras,  jellied  meats,  aspar- 
agus, truffles,  mushrooms,  plovers'  eggs,  mayonnaise  dress- 
ing, aspic,  and  all  that  sort  of  fancy  stuff,  to  keep  a  couple 
of  regular  families  for  a  year.  And  the  servants  were  tack- 
ing up  greens  in  the  front  hall  and  putting  wreaths  around 
the  chandeliers,  and  tying  holly  and  mistletoe  to  pictures, 
and  doing  everything  they  could  think  of  to  git  rid  of  money 
for  nothing.  He's  giving  a  dinner,  and  say,  if  you  was  to 
put  a  lock  on  that  house  while  it  was  going  on  and  keep  all 
those  guys  there,  you  could  set  everybody  in  the  jails  free; 
honest  to  Gawd!    There's  Vaughan  —  the  same  guy  we 


DESTINY'S  MAGIC  WHEEL  213 

made  that  last  touch  from  —  that's  the  flour  trust  man; 
and  Quesink,  who's  running  cotton;  O'Shea,  the  street 
railways  gink;  Philip  Helmet,  that's  got  meat  by  the  neck; 
Gage,  the  steel  corporation  president;  Lyttleton,  Fillimore, 
Rollins  K.  Hilman,  Arbuthnot,  the  district  attorney,  the 
mayor  —  and,  say,  everybody  that  we've  got  a  grudge 
against  —  meaning  you,  particularly,  Steve,  and  not  for- 
getting our  old  friend  Gerstein  that  we  touched  for  eighty 
thousand  bucks.  As  fine  a  lot  of  gentlemen  as  ever  scut- 
tled a  ship,  Steve!" 

Stephen's  lips  flattened  against  his  teeth,  the  boyish 
smile  that  had  wreathed  his  rosy  face  departing  entirely. 

"What  time  is  the  dinner  —  eight?" 

George   nodded. 

"The  servants  will  all  be  occupied,  of  course,"  continued 
Stephen.  "Andthere'llbenobody  up  stairs  at  all,  I  suppose?" 

"How  did  you  know  the  place  was  up  stairs?"  asked 
George  wonderingly. 

"Why,"  answered  Stephen  in  some  perplexity.  "I'm 
sure  I  don't  know;  it  just  occurred  to  me  that  it  was,  that's 
all;  in  a  library,  isn't  it?" 

"  Why,  yes.    Say,  you  never*  prowled  *  the  joint,  did  you  ?  " 

"No,  never,"  returned  Stephen,  his  perplexity  growing. 
"Strange  I  should  feel  so  sure  about  it.  But  then,"  he 
laughed,  "you  know  I'm  studying  theosophy  nowadays  and 
I  have  given  up  trying  to  trace  mental  impressions.  Mis3 
Duress  has  got  me  interested." 

"Duress  —  never  mind  Duress  —  he  don*t  count.  It's 
Janissary  —  Janissary,"  mumbled  Van  Tromp. 


214  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

Le  Fay  placed  a  restraining  hand  upon  Axtell  as  Hilary 
was  generally  wont  to  do. 

"Somehow,"  continued  Stephen,  "that  Janissary  house 
seems  awfully  familiar  to  me.  I  would  have  sworn  I'd 
played  in  that  garden  when  I  was  a  child,  and  maybe  I 
did,  but  Hilary  shuts  up  like  a  clam  every  time  the  name  of 
Janissary  is  mentioned.  He  told  me  once  on  the  Maura- 
driatic  that  Janissary  wronged  my  father  but  that  was 
all  I've  ever  been  able  to  screw  out  of  him.  However, 
go  ahead,  George;  they're  giving  a  dinner  to-night  at 
eight,  and  that  leaves  up  stairs  free.  How  do  I  kick  my 
way  in?" 

Le  Fay,  now  sufficiently  warmed,  pushed  a  chair  up  to 
the  table  and  switched  on  the  light  in  the  red-shaded  elec- 
tric lamp.  Stephen,  making  a  ball  of  his  gray  gloves, 
tossed  them  into  his  upturned  silk  hat  and  sat  down  beside 
him.  Producing  a  series  of  rude  drawings  in  lead  pencil  — 
captioned  as  always  in  **hog  Latin"  —  the  older  man  began 
his  practical  explanation. 

"Of  course,  the  front's  no  good,  but  I've  drawn  it  there 
so  you  can  see  it.  There's  only  one  pair  of  steps  leading 
into  the  house;  there  they  are  —  the  front  ones  —  so  let's 
start  with  the  back.  You  see  these  lines  represent  the  iron 
fence  that  runs  around  the  front,  but,  at  the  sides  and  at 
the  back,  there's  a  brick  wall  about  ten  feet  high.  Couldn't 
hop  it  unless  it  was  a  night  as  dark  as  a  'dinge*  and  then 
it  'ud  be  some  trouble.  But  there's  a  wooden  door  in  the 
brick  wall  at  the  back  that  leads  out  into  Washington 
Court " 

"Where    Betsy    lives,    you    remember,    Mr.    Axtell," 


DESTINY'S  MAGIC  WHEEL  215 

interjected  Stephen  parenthetically.      "Well,  what  kind  of 
a  lock?" 

"A  regular  yale  lock;  all  you  need  for  that  is  to  stick 
your  saw  between  the  door  and  the  jamb  and " 

"I'm  not  in  the  primer  class.     What  then?" 

"Well  —  then  you're  in  the  back  garden;  lot  of  oak 
trees  and  rose  bushes  and  things  that  hide  you.  The  reg- 
ular entrance  is  five  steps  down  into  the  basement  —  which 
is  no  good  of  course,  for  the  cooks  and  dish  washers  'uU  be 
working  down  there.  But  there's  a  little  wooden  balcony 
with  round  knobs  on  it  that  comes  out  from  the  dining-room 
windows  about  twelve  feet  from  the  ground;  too  high  to 
jump  for  it " 

"But  it'll  be  all  right  to  noose  with  the  wire,  won't  it? 
Knobs  look  easy  to  lasso?  " 

"A  cinch;  that's  what  I  was  going  to  suggest.  Well,  of 
course,  they  '11  all  be  in  the  dining-room  at  the  time  and  the 
curtains  will  be  drawn.  But  right  at  the  side,  just  a  few 
inches  around  from  the  porch,  is  the  window  to  the  butler 's 
pantry  and  running  right  along  the  edge  of  the  house  is  a 
water  pipe.  Now  I  figure  it  out  that,  if  you  carried  one  of 
our  wooden  wedges  and  shoved  it  in  behind  the  hook  that 
holds  the  water  pipe  in  place,  you  could  keep  one  foot  on  the 
porch  rail  and  one  on  the  wedge  and  spring  the  pantry 
window  that  way.  You  can  figure  out  by  peeping  into  the 
dining-room  just  when  all  the  ginks  are  busy  serving  and 
then  swing  yourself  over  onto  the  sill  and  get  in.  Well, 
the  back  stairway  is  right  off  the  butler's  pantry  and  all 
you  gotta  do  then  is  to  walk  right  up  and  the  first  room  to 
your  right  when  you  land  is  the  library.     If  you  was  to  be 


216  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

unlucky  enough  to  meet  anybody,  you  've  got  on  clothes 
like  the  guests  wear  and  they  wouldn't  think  anything  of 
it  —  big  party  like  that!" 

Stephen  nodded. 

"It's  no  easy  proposition,"  continued  George.  "I 
wouldn  't  tackle  it  with  a  letter  from  the  Pope  —  but  you 
picked  it  out  for  yourself  —  or  I  guess  old  bag  of  bones  did, 
egging  you  on." 

"Old  Grandfather  Goose,"  sneered  Axtell.  "A  foolish 
thing,  Stephen,  to  let  yourself  be  swayed  by  a  doddering 
old  idiot's  arguments.  Why  not  drop  this  thing,"  he  added 
with  real  earnestness,  for  he  had  no  wish  that  the  lucrative 
business  of  the  company  should  come  to  an  abrupt  termina- 
tion through  the  discovery  of  Stephen's  profession.  "There 
are  plenty  of  places  easier  to  handle  than  this  one." 

"Oh,  we  settled  all  that  long  ago,  Mr.  Axtell," said  Stephen 
lightly.  "Go  on  about  the  place,  George.  What's  the 
safe  like?" 

"It's  one  of  those  covered-up  aflfairs;  bottom  of  a  writing 
desk  effect.  I  should  say  from  the  size  and  shape  of  it  that 
it  was  a  Mall-Harwin  23." 

"Need  about  a  half-inch  bit  for  that,  eh,  George?" 

Le  Fay  nodded. 

"It  should  be  a  pipe  after  you're  once  in  the  libraiy;  all 
you  need  is  your  drill,  your  electric  connections,  and  some 
soap,  and,  of  course,  your  extension  jimmy  for  the  compart- 
ments inside.  The  *pete'  'uU  be  nothing  to  some  you  have 
opened.  Of  course  you  have  to  take  the  same  chances 
coming  back,  though,  if  I  were  you,  I'd  just  walk  right 
down  the  front  stairs  and  out  —  the  library  door  faces  the 


DESTINY'S  MAGIC  WHEEL  217 

front  stairway  you  know.  In  a  dress  suit  you  ought  to  be 
able  to  get  away  with  it." 

"Not  a  chance,  George.  I'm  not  taking  any  unnecessary 
risks,"  laughed  Stephen  excitedly,  for  the  prospect  of  danger 
to  be  faced  always  brought  a  flush  to  his  cheek  and  a  sparkle 
to  his  eyes,  exhilarating  him  as  do  drugs  and  drink  most 
men.  "I'll  use  my  wire  for  the  getaway;  it's  an  easy  drop 
with  it  to  the  garden-plot  at  the  side,  isn't  it?'* 

"Great  material  for  dice,"  apologized  George,  tapping 
his  head.  "Guess  my  mind's  wandering,  Steve.  Well, 
what  about  it?  Think  .  you'll  turn  the  trick  to- 
night?" 

Stephen  took  the  plans  that  George  had  made  and  folded 
them,  placing  them  in  his  pocket.  Van  Tromp  leaned  for- 
ward eagerly,  ceasing  to  wheeze  for  the  moment  lest  he  might 
miss  the  monosyllable  that  would  decide  the  matter.  When 
it  turned  out  to  be  the  desired  and  expected  one,  he 
leaned  back  in  his  chair  with  a  great  sigh  of  gratification, 
closing  his  eyes  that  Axtell  might  not  observe  from  them  any 
emotion  that  was  passing  through  his  mind. 

"Send  Hilary  up  to-morrow  for  the  stuflF,"  Stephen  con- 
cluded lightly,  as  he  rose  to  go.  Seeing  further  remonstrance 
in  the  eyes  of  Wulf  Axtell,  he  whipped  his  coat  from  the 
chair,  tossed  up  his  hat,  caught  it  in  one  hand  and  his  gloves 
in  the  other;  and  with  a — 

"  Why  so  serious,  friends  of  my  youth?"  and  another  boy- 
ish laugh,  clapped  the  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head  and  left 
the  room.  Axtell  glowered  at  the  old  grocer  who  still  kept 
his  eyes  discreetly  closed. 

"Horrible  ass,"  he  grated.     "Wait  until  George  goes; 


218  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

you'll  see  if  you  sit  so  comfortably  there  by  my  fire.  He 
listened  to  you  against  me,  did  he?" 

Quivering  with  excitement  and  gratification,  old  Van 
Tromp  still  remained  to  all  appearances  inert,  as  though 
overcome  by  sudden  weakness.  But  had  Axtell  looked 
into  his  pocket,  he  might  have  found  there  a  mate  to  the 
silent  messenger  that  had  gone  to  Janissary  on  the  previous 
day;  and  had  he  seen  what  lay  behind  those  closed  eyelids, 
he  might  have  realized  that,  beside  the  hatred  of  that  old 
man  against  Stephen  Janissary,  his  own  vicious  envy  for 
the  whole  world  was  as  the  merest  drop  of  water  to  a  mighty 
ocean. 

For  in  the  brain  of  the  old  man  there  stood  out  in  letters 
of  fire  a  passage  from  the  great  black  Book  that  was  his 
constant  companion: 

"Vengeance  is  mine;  I  will  repay,  saith  the  Lord." 

He  believed  that  he  had  been  chosen  the  instrument  of  that 
vengeance  —  a  vengeance  the  like  of  which  it  had  never  been 
allowed  that  the  mouse  should  visit  upon  the  lion. 

II 

DECIMA   PILES   OSSA   UPON   PELION 

Stephen  swung  out  of  the  House  of  the  Dominie,  passed 
swiftly  along  Chapel  Street,  crossed  Sixth  Avenue,  and 
cut  across  Washington  Square  diagonally  toward  the  Duress 
home.  It  was  the  sort  of  day  on  which  a  man  necessarily 
walked  swiftly  unless  he  wished  to  become  like  the  statues 
in  the  fountains,  the  original  designs  of  which  were  com- 
pletely disguised  by  masks  of  ice.    In  the  dim  blue  of  the 


DESTINY'S  MAGIC  WHEEL  219 

winter  sky  the  early  stars  seemed  like  little  frozen  eyes,  and, 
under  foot,  the  snow  lay  in  hard,  compact  mounds  so  that 
one  did  well  to  disregard  the  beauty  of  approaching  night 
and  mind  where  one's  feet  were  placed  before  striding  too 
confidently.  In  the  garden  of  the  Duress  house,  the  marble 
maiden  with  her  long,  unfilled  jug  caused  Stephen  a  little 
shiver,  presenting  to  his  mind  as  she  did  the  infelicitous 
question  of  how  he  should  be  affected  in  such  weather  were 
he  as  free  from  raiment  as  she.  And  he  found  occasion 
to  censure  Uncle  Fairfax  for  an  attention  to  educative  head 
lines  that  obscured  in  his  mind  the  necessity  for  pouring 
warm  water  on  steps  sheeted  with  ice. 

"  Am  a  shif' less,  tho'tless  nigguh  and  no  mistake,  Missuh 
Adams,"  he  agreed,  as  he  laid  down  the  apotheosis  of 
"heads,"  enabling  Stephen,  ten  feet  away,  to  glean  by  a 
second's  inspection,  the  principal  happenings  of  a  day  set 
forth  in  type  as  large  as  any  alphabetical  blocks  dared  to  be. 
"Reckun  Ah'm  gettin'  toe  old  even  toe  ten'  de  doah, 
Missuh  Adams.  She's  in  thuh  usual  place,  Missie  Decima 
is;  kinduh  peeved  yoh  didn't  come  yestuhda.  Ah  reckon. 
Kep*  a  askin'  all  thuh  time  ef  you  was  down  heah  wastin* 
yo'  time  with  me." 

"I  was  out  of  town  —  got  a  Philadelphia  man  interested 
in  Miss  Decima 's  tenements.  Uncle  Fairfax.  How's  your 
rheumatiz?" 

"Po'ly,  thank  de  Lawd,  po'ly,  suh." 

Stephen  was  half-way  up  the  broad  staircase  when  he  asked 
the  question,  and  Decima  heard  his  whole-souled  laugh, 
and  ran  to  the  door  of  her  library  to  greet  him. 

"I   got  your   flowers,"    she  said,  pointing  to  a  bit  of 


220  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

Wedgwood  that  held  a  cluster  of  Jacqueminot  roses. 
"But  that  doesn't  excuse  your  not  coming  or  'phoning 
yesterday." 

"Why,  honey,"  he  said,  taking  her  into  his  arms,  "as  I 
was  just  telling  Uncle  Fairfax,  I've  got  good  news  for  you. 
Dittmars  is  going  to  subscribe  twenty-five  thousand  for 
the  new  tenements;  but  I  had  to  go  down  to  Philadelphia 
with  him  and  meet  his  wife  before  he  would  absolutely 
give  his  word.  He  said  she  had  charge  of  the  charity  for 
the  family  but  if  I  talked  to  her  the  way  I  did  to  him,  he 
was  sure  she'd  consent  —  and  she  did.  Now  aren't  you 
glad?" 

"Did  she  keep  looking  at  you  all  the  time  through  dinner 
like  Isabel  Livingstone  does?" 

"Oh,  hang  Isabel!" 

** Cheerfully,  Stephen.  She's  a  thorn  in  my  flesh.  And  I 
can't  get  over  the  idea  that  you  like  her  pretty  well  at  that. 
Now  don't  you?" 

"That's  typical  of  your  sex,  Decima.  Wise  and  foolish, 
they  are  exactly  the  same  about  their  men  kind.  Isabel 
is  your  dearest  friend;  she  goes  everywhere  with  you; 
and  you,  yourself,  took  me  to  the  Livingstones'  house 
and  had  me  invited  to  dinners  and  insisted  on  my  taking 
you " 

"Yes,  but  I  wanted  you  to  look  at  me  and  not  at  Isabel. 
I " 

"You  can't  look  at  one  person  while  you're  talking  to 
another.  'Tisn't  done  in  court  circles  these  days.  Any 
cigarettes  about,  Dess?" 

She  rose  and  handed  him  a  glass-topped  silver  box,  lighted 


DESTINY'S  MAGIC  WHEEL  221 

a  spill  from  the  fire,  and  tendered  it  to  him  while  she  sat 
on  the  arm  of  his  chair. 

"Isn't  it  funny  when  you  love  a  person  you  like  to  wait 
on  them?"  she  said  meditatively.  "  Strange  about  a  woman, 
Stephen;  she  makes  slaves  out  of  all  the  men  she  doesn't 
love  and  thinks  it  discourteous  unless  they  accept  their 
slavery  gratefully.  I  suppose  that's  because  ahe^s  so  will- 
ing to  make  a  slave  of  herself  when  she  loves." 

"All  that  disquisition  over  the  passing  of  a  cigarette  and 
a  light,  Dess?"  asked  Stephen,  smiling. 

"Oh,  no,  no!"  she  said  hastily.  "I  love  to  wait  on  you; 
really,  Stephen,  it  gives  me  more  pleasure  to  be  waiting 
on  you  than  to  do  anything  in  the  world.  I  want  to  do 
things  for  you  I  wouldn't  do  for  anybody  in  the  world, 
because  I  can  do  so  little  else  to  prove  my  love  that  it  really 
makes  me  irritable  if  I  miss  a  chance.  Women  can  do  so 
little,"  she  added  wistfully,  "so  very  little,  unless  the  man 
they  love  is  sick  or  in  disgrace,  or " 

"And  suppose  that  I  —  I  —  were  in  disgrace?"  he  asked, 
looking  up  at  her. 

"Oh,  you  couldn't  be;  why  talk  of  it?" 

"But  suppose  I  were?  "  he  persisted. 

"Well,  I  should  be  in  two  minds,"  she  said,  wrinkling  up 
her  little  nose.  "  I  shouldn  't  know  whether  to  be  sorry  you 
were  in  trouble  or  glad  it  gave  me  a  chance  to  prove  how 
much  I  loved  you.  These  women  in  novels  now,"  she  said 
scornfully,  "and  plays,  too  —  they're  so  tiresome;  as  if 
any  real  woman  who  loved  ever  stopped  loving  because  her 
husband  or  lover  did  something  that  the  world  disapproved 
of.     It 's  perfectly  silly,  Stephen.    One  thing  you  must  allow 


AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

us  women;  if  we  don't  love  often  we  do  love  with  all  our 
hearts,  and,  once  we  do,  I  suppose  the  man  can  commit 
murder  and  we'd  still  love  him.  But  not  petty,  small 
things,"  she  explained  carefully,  "not  nasty  little  things.  A 
woman  demands  her  lover  be  tremendous  even  in  all 
things  —  at  least  a  woman  like  me,  and,  of  course,  I 
only  speak  for  myself.  And  that's  what  you  are;  I  just 
love  that  Frenchman  who  christened  you  'Stephen  the 
Magnificent.' " 

"Well,  I  don't  then,"  he  said  frowning.  "Everybody's 
taken  it  up  until  it's  become  a  perfect  nuisance.  Well, 
what's  new,  Dess,  anything?" 

"What,  you're  not  going?"  she  asked,  hurt,  as  he  began 
to  reach  for  his  hat  and  coat.     "You'll  have  some  tea?" 

"Can't,   Dess;   very   important   engagement  to-night." 

It  was  on  the  tip  of  her  tongue  to  tell  him  that  she,  too, 
had  an  engagement  of  considerable  moment  in  the  dinner 
that  Janissary  was  tendering  her;  but,  recollecting  that 
Janissary  had  promised  to  bring  her  in  touch  with  many 
wealthy  people  from  whom  she  expected  to  extort  subscrip- 
tions, she  decided  to  wait  until  the  morrow  when  she  could 
triumphantly  recount  her  victories  to  Stephen.  But  the 
thought  of  the  dinner  revived  the  scene  that  the  master  of 
Amalgamated  had  had  with  John  Graham  and  the  promise 
she  had  made  Canby  Kernahan  to  help  him  in  the  matter 
through  the  one  man  in  the  world  whom  she  considered  a 
match  for  Janissary  and  who  now  sat  before  her. 

"Oh,  Stephen,  I  forgot  to  tell  you.  I  want  a  favour  — 
a  big  favour!" 

Amused  at  her  earnestness,  he  took  her  hands  and  looked 


DESTINY'S  MAGIC  WHEEL  223 

at  her  quizzically.  She  slipped  into  her  favourite  position 
on  the  hearth  rug  at  her  feet. 

"Go  ahead:  anything  I  can  do,  Dessie!" 

"Well  you  can  do  this,  Stephen,  and  you  are  the  only  man 
I  know  of  who  can.  Now  I  don 't  understand  the  thing  very 
well,  but  Mr.  Kemahan,  your  friend,  told  me  that  the  street 
railways  were  charging  two  fares  to  a  lot  of  poor 
people '* 

"You  mean  the  Graham  veto,  of  course,"  he  agreed. 
"Yes,  I  know  all  about  that;  McKenna's  confession,  too. 
That  will  kill  the  franchise  and  Graham  will  win  after  all." 

"Oh,  but  he  won't,  Stephen;  that's  just  where  all  of  you 
were  mistaken.  He  told  me  afterward,  and  he  was  just  like 
a  person  who'd  lost  all  his  family  or  something.  You  see 
Mr.  Janissary  denies  there  were  ever  any  statements  against 
McKenna  and  then  asks  what  effect  will  the  confession  of 
an  indicted  criminal  have,  especially  when  his  political 
party  will  swear  that  they  were  ignorant  of  his  crimes  when 
he  was  nominated  and,  besides  that,  will  say  that  he  came 
to  them  for  help  in  quashing  the  indictment  and  that  they 
refused* to  defeat  the  ends  of  justice,'  I  think  Mr.  Graham 
quoted " 

Having  given  the  matter  concentrated  attention  since 
Decima  first  began  to  speak,  Stephen's  alert  brain  was  able 
to  figure  out  the  existing  condition  of  affairs  in  the  matter 
from  the  few  scraps  that  Decima  had  let  drop. 

"I  see,"  he  said  slowly;  "they  claim  he's  run  away 
because  they  wouldn  't  protect  him  and  left  this  confession 
behind  for  revenge;  that  it?" 

"Yes;  and " 


224  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"And  the  statements  are  necessary  to  prove  that  his  story 
is  true.  Otherwise  Graham  would  have  to  bring  him  from 
Tangier  to  go  on  the  stand  himself,  whereas,  the  moment 
McKenna  landed,  they'd  run  him  into  prison  and  convict 
him  before  they  could  make  use  of  him.  Yes,  that's  the 
way  the  machine  of  business-politics  works,  Decima.  If 
they  can't  bribe  a  man  they  get  something  to  threaten  him 
with.     Poor  McKenna!" 

"But  don't  you  see,"  Decima  explained  eagerly,  "that 
if  Mr.  Graham  had  those  statements  his  story  would  be 
proved  and  the  mayor  wouldn't  dare  sign  the  new 
franchise." 

"The  mayor?    Surely  it  hasn't  passed  the  council  yet?" 

"Yes,  this  afternoon!  Haven't  you  read  the  papers? 
And  the  mayor  will  sign  it  to-morrow  without  a  doubt  un- 
less somebody  gets  those  statements  that  Mr.  Janissary 
declares  don't  exist.  But  they  do,  Stephen,  Mr.  Graham 
knows  they  do,  and  that  is  what  makes  it  so  sad.  Please, 
Stephen,  won't  you  do  something?  It  would  be  such  a 
favour  to  me.  Think  of  those  poor  people  all  tired  out  from 
their  work  having  to  get  out  of  the  cars  and  walk  or  else 
pay  another  fare  that  they  can't  afford!  It's  a  downright 
shame,"  she  finished  indignantly,  "and  it  will  be  terrible  if 
that  franchise  goes  through  and  Mr.  Janissary  and  all  his 
friends  just  laugh  at  the  people  and  tell  them  to  pay  or  walk. 
It  isn't  right  —  it  shouldn't  be  permitted — and  I  want  you 
to  stop  it,  Stephen!" 

She  was  actually  pacing  the  floor  in  her  vexation,  her 
little  hands  clasped  behind  her  back,  her  manner  a  remi- 
niscence of  Stephen's  own  when  something  had  gone  wrong 


DESTINY'S  MAGIC  WHEEL  225 

in  spite  of  his  efforts.  It  was  like  a  child  playing  states- 
man, and  Stephen  repressed  a  smile  with  dijQBculty. 

"Why,  you  dear  little  unselfish  thing,"  he  said,  stopping 
her  in  her  progress,  and  drawing  her  down  to  the  arm  of  his 
chair.  "You  are  as  much  worked  up  about  it  as  though  you 
were  actually  losing  money  yourself." 

"I  wouldn't  care  if  /  was  losing  money  —  that  is,  not 
much,"  she  said,  turning  her  flushed  little  face  to  his,  "be- 
cause I  can  afford  to  lose  something.  But  these  poor  people 
can't  and  it  isn't  right  that  they  should;  and  if  you're  their 
friend,  Stephen,  you'll  protect  them,  because  you  know  the 
mayor  will  certainly  sign  that  franchise  unless  somebody 
prevents  him." 

"Yes,"  agreed  Stephen  soberiy,  "he  is  the  easiest  tool  the 
machine  has  had  in  many  moons.  Such  a  pity,  too  —  a 
man  with  a  father  like  that  and  the  chances  he  had  —  greed 
again,  Dessie,  sheer  greed;  everything  is  sacrificed  to  that!'* 

"Oh,  but  this  mustn't  be,"  she  said  seriously,  holding  his 
hand  in  a  tight  grasp.  "This  mustn't  be;  promise  me  it 
won't,  Stephen;  promise  me!" 

"I  wish  I  could,  Dess,"  he  sighed.  "God  knows  I  do. 
But  what  can  be  done?  I'm  helpless.  I  have  no  influence 
with  Mr.  Janissary  nor  with  the  mayor.  I  can't/orce  them 
to  do  anything." 

"Oh,  but  you  carit  Stephen,  you  can.  You  can  do  any- 
thing if  you  set  your  mind  to  it,  and  I  want  this  done  so  much, 
because  I  saw  the  nasty,  insulting  way  Mr.  Janissary  treated 
poor  Mr.  Graham  —  like  the  dirt  under  his  feet  —  as  our 
washerwoman  says.  And  Mr.  Graham  is  so  sad  about  it. 
Stephen,  please!" 


226  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"What  can  I  do,  Dessie?"  he  asked,  extending  his  palms 
in  a  helpless  sort  of  way. 

"  Oh,  don 't  talk  like  that,  Stephen.  You  can  do  anything 
if  you  try  —  you  —  'Stephen  the  Magnificent."* 

"Yes,  magnificent  ass!  Look  how  unworthy  I  am  when 
a  thing  like  this  comes  up." 

"Oh,  no,  no !  Not  unworthy !  Your  brain  is  tired,  that 's 
all.  You  don't  realize  how  important  this  is.  Let  me  help 
you  —  let  me  think. " 

She  stared  into  the  blazing  grate,  her  eyes  set,  her  hands 
clenched.  He  sat  brooding.  If  he  only  could  do  something 
in  the  matter!  But  how?  It  troubled  him  that  there 
should  be  so  much  injustice  in  the  world  and  he  must  view 
it  with  troubled  eyes  and  folded  hands,  knowing  no  remedy. 
In  such  crises  he  saw  himself  a  Gulliver  among  Brobdina- 
gians.  It  was  the  reaHzation  of  his  impotence  in  pre- 
venting civic  corruptions  of  this  sort  that  kept  him  humble. 

Suddenly  she  turned  to  him  with  a  little  excited  cry, 
and,  dropping  to  her  knees  on  the  white  bearskin  before  the 
fire,  caught  the  lapels  of  his  coat  so  violently  that  his  rose- 
bud fell  to  the  floor. 

"IVe  got  it,  Stephen;  I've  got  it.  McKenna  names  the 
men  who  swore  to  those  statements  in  his  confession;  you 
can  go  to  them  and  force  them  to  tell  the  truth;  just  threaten 
to  do  all  sorts  of  terrible  things  to  them.  They  will  be 
afraid  of  you  and  tell  the  truth.  Why,  you  could  get  that 
person  McGuimp  to  help  you  with  his  awful  friends; 
they  would  be  useful  to  scare  those  perjurers  so  that  they  'd 
be  afraid  not  to  tell  that  those  statements  in  Mr.  Janissary's 
safe  were  all  lies.    Why,  Stephen,  what's  the  matter?" 


DESTINY'S  MAGIC  WHEEL  «27 

For  he  had  leaped  to  his  feet  as  though  he  had  come  into 
sudden  contact  with  a  live  wire;  no  catapult  ever  shot  a 
heavy  weight  straighter;  no  man  ever  consciously  tumbled 
the  girl  he  loved  into  such  a  sprawling  heap  as  did 
Stephen  tumble  Decima  at  that  moment. 

She  sat  up,  cross-legged,  staring  at  him  as  he  tore  up  and 
down  the  room,  unable  to  find  words  to  voice  his  amaze- 
ment at  the  inscrutable  ways  of  Providence,  his  wonder  at 
the  machinery  of  Destiny's  magic  wheel. 

"The  statements  —  where?"  he  gasped. 

"Statements  —  where  —  what?"  she  stammered,  all 
ideas  of  the  franchise  banished  by  his  remarkable  behaviour. 

"The  statements  —  the  statements  against  McKenna; 
where  did  you  say  they  were?" 

He  was  actually  shaking  her. 

"Stephen,  have  you  gone  mad?** 

"If  I  have  it's  a  wonderful  madness  —  a  glorious,  beauti- 
ful, jubilant,  happy,  joyful,  maddeningly  wonderful  mad- 
ness," he  almost  shouted,  pulling  her  to  her  feet  and  almost 
dancing  with  her  about  the  room.  "Where  in  the  name  of 
all  that's  fantastically  incredible  did  you  say  those  state- 
ments were?" 

"You  mean  —  the  statements  against  McKenna?"  she 
asked,  gasping  for  breath  in  his  grizzly-like  embrace. 

"No  —  the  statements  against  the  Kaiser  and  King  Ed- 
ward and  the  President  of  France,  little  silly,"  he  answered, 
laughing  happily.  "Did  you  say  those  statements  were  in 
Mr.  Janissary's  safe?" 

"Why,  yes,  the  McKenna  statements  are,  but  I  don't 
know  anything  about  any  other  statements," 


228  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"Now  it  couldn't  be  by  any  absolutely  unbelievable 
chance  that  you  mean  they  are  in  the  safe  in  Mr.  Janissary 's 
private  residence?  Of  course,  you  mean  in  his  oflfice  at 
Amalgamated,  don't  you?" 

"Oh,  no,  no!  They're  not  there,  Stephen.  They're 
right  in  his  private  house,"  she  assured  him  earnestly. 

Stephen,  releasing  her  as  a  companion  unworthy  of  his 
terpsichorean  inspiration,  executed  a  caracole  about  the 
library  that  would  have  won  enthusiastic  admiration  from 
masters  of  the  art  for  its  absolute  lack  of  technique. 

"Stephen,  you  silly  child!"  she  said  reprovingly,  through 
her  wild  laughter.  "You're  nothing  but  a  great  big  baby; 
what  on  earth  set  you  oflf  like  that?  What  difference  does 
it  make  whether  the  statements  are  in  Mr.  Janissary's  pri- 
vate house  or  in  his  office  or  where  they  are?" 

"Eh,  what?"  he  asked,  pausing  in  the  middle  of  a  very  dif- 
ficult step  that  no  one  but  an  amateur  would  have  dared 
attempt  to  execute. 

"  Sit  down  and  stop  that  foolishness.  I  want  to  talk  seri- 
ously to  you.  What  difference  does  it  make  where  the 
statements  are?" 

The  difficult  step  was  never  accomplished;  the  world 
of  dancing  to-day  has  lost  a  most  complicated  figure;  Ste- 
phen put  his  foot  down  and  attempted  to  sober  his  bearing. 

"Of  course,  what  difference  does  it  make?"  he  asked, 
his  eyes,  however,  betraying  concealed  merriment. 

"Come  here,  sir.    Sit  down!"  she  said  imperiously. 

"Sorry,  Dess,  but  if  you  want  me  to  keep  that  franchise 
from  being  signed  you'd  better  let  me  go  now,"  he  said, 
slipping  into  his  great-coat. 


DESTINY'S  MAGIC  WHEEL  229 

"You're  going  to  keep  it  from  being  signed?"  she  asked, 
clapping  her  hands  delightedly.     "  Are  you  really ^  Stephen ?  " 

He  nodded  solemnly. 

"But  how?     Like  I  suggested?" 

"  I  shall  file  your  suggestion?  and  they  shall  have  my  most 
careful  attention,"  he  said  with  the  same  waggish  solemnity. 

"But " 

"Now,  listen,  little  girl,"  he  said,  catching  her  in  his  arms. 
"Don't  bother  me  for  details.  If  things  are  the  way  you 
say  they  are,  that  franchise  hasn't  got  as  much  chance  of 
being  signed  by  the  mayor  as  I  have  of  becoming  President 
on  the  Prohibition  ticket.    That  ought  to  be  good  enough !  '* 

A  second  time  she  was  crushed  in  a  bear  hug,  kissed  fer- 
vidly, and  left  gasping  for  breath;  and  as  he  passed  down  the 
stairs  she  heard  peal  after  peal  of  merry  laughter. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

BELSHAZZAR  FEASTS 

I 

STEPHEN   BUCKLES    ON   HIS   AKMOUR 

THERE  was  the  smell  of  Christmas  in  Apartment  72 
at  Canary's  when  Stephen  opened  the  door.  Rag 
had  cleared  away  a  corner  of  the  room  near  one  of  the  win- 
dows, and  was  now  busily  engaged  in  decorating  a  hugh 
fir  tree  with  tinsel,  multi-coloured  candles,  and  balls,  spears, 
cornucopias,  and  other  ornaments  of  iridescent  hues,  all  of 
which  are  created  for  the  sole  purpose  of  hanging  on  Christ- 
mas-trees. This  one  was  set  in  a  miniature  garden  where 
sparkling  quartz  and  mica  were  strewn  in  such  profusion 
that  only  the  most  ignorant  child  could  fail  to  mistake  the 
combination  for  anything  except  snow,  while  through  this 
garden  wandered  the  black  tracks  of  a  competent  little 
Baldwin  locomotive,  which,  if  properly  attended  to,  would 
go  tearing  around  within  the  radius  of  the  green  picket 
fence  for  a  full  quarter  of  an  hour  without  pausing  to  take 
water.  An  army  of  gaudy  lead  soldiers,  in  the  uniform  of 
the  French  army  and  carrying  firearms,  the  like  of  which 
was  never  seen  on  land  or  sea  and  certainly  never  approved 
by  any  war  department,  stood  in  spirited  attitudes  regard- 

2S0 


BELSHAZZAR  FEASTS  831 

ing  the  locomotive  with  some  hostility  —  possibly  consider- 
ing it  3  feed  train  laden  with  supplies  for  the  enemy.  With 
such  fierce  fellows  about,  one  feared  for  the  safety  of  the 
fleecy  little  lambs  browsing  discontentedly  over  the  waste 
of  white  in  company  with  dun-coloured  cows  and  one  very 
tame  tiger  whose  yellow  and  black  colour  scheme  imme- 
diately identified  him  as  a  solecism,  unless  he  had  been 
reduced,  through  living  in  a  land  of  continual  snow,  to  hiring 
himself  out  in  the  capacity  of  a  sheep  dog  in  order  to  gain 
his  daily  nutriment  —  possibly  a  vegetarian  tiger. 

Rag  disregarded  the  appearance  of  Stephen  until  he  had 
satisfactorily  crowned  the  top  of  the  tree  with  a  very  ru- 
bicund gentleman  who  wore  a  pack  on  his  back  and  had  snow 
on  his  whiskers,  and  who  beamed  benignantly  over  this  tri- 
bute to  the  holiday  of  which  he  knew  himself  to  be  the  most 
beloved  of  patron  saints. 

"Tree,  ornaments,  garden,  and  everything  only  cost 
fifty-two  sixty-seven,"  Rag  announced  with  some  pride, 
stepping  back  to  view  his  first  attempt  at  decoration.  "  Say, 
Steve,  won't  those  kids  be  tickled  to  death?  I'll  bet  there 
never  was  a  guy  lived  in  this  joint  ever  thought  of  giving  a 
Christmas  party  for  the  servants'  kids.  Andr6  tells  me  he'll 
send  his,  too,  and  that's  going  some  for  Andre,  because 
he  considers  himself  high  above  all  the  other  people  here. 
These  head  waiters  are  pretty  near  millionaires  themselves.'* 

He  consulted  a  little  note-book,  wetting  the  lead  in  his 
pencil  and  totaling  up  statistics. 

"There'll  be  one  hundred  and  two  kids,  Steve,  and  the 
presents  I've  ordered  'ull  stand  you  back  about  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty;  that  oversteppin'  th'  limit?'* 


232  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"Should  say  not;  I  want  to  give  them  the  time  of  their 
lives.  Don't  stint  yourself  on  candy  and  cakes  and  sugar 
canes  and  chocolate  rabbits  and  all  that  kind  of  thing.  Go 
as  far  as  you  like,  Rag.  Let's  see;  only  three  days  before 
Christmas,  isn't  it?" 

Rag  dusted  off  his  hands  and  slipped  back  into  the  gar- 
ment of  servitude,   viewing  his  quasi-master  admiringly. 

"Say,  you're  a  great  guy,  Steve.  Wonderful  th'  things 
you  think  of  doin'  for  other  people;  them  waiters  and  cham- 
bermaids and  chefs  'ud  do  anything  f er  you  after  this  party. 
Don't  know  how  you  git  any  time  to  attend  to  your  own 
business,  lookin'  after  other  people's  so  much.  Say,"  he 
added,  noticing  that  the  hands  of  the  little  ormolu  mantel 
clock  were  indicating  the  close  approach  of  eight  o'clock, 
"where  you  bin  all  this  time?  Ain't  you  dining  out? 
What '11  I  git  you  —  the  *soup-and-fish'  or  the  'thirteen- 
and-the-odd?'" 

Stephen  disclaimed  any  desire  for  the  dinner  coat  first' 
mentioned,  declaring  his  preference  for  the  more  formal 
tailed  garment. 

"Where  you  dinin'?"  asked  Rag,  entering  the  dressing- 
room  to  procure  it. 

"I  have  dined  —  in  a  little  out-of-the-way  restaurant 
near  Washington  Square.  I've  had  a  lot  to  think  about. 
I'm  working  to-night.  Rag." 

"Workin',"  echoed  the  other,  appearing  at  the  curtains. 
"What  at?  the  Janissary  case?  so  soon?" 

Stephen  nodded. 

"He's  got  a  big  dinner  party  on.  George  gave  me  all  the 
'soundings.'    My  kit  in  good  working  order,  Ra^g?" 


BELSHAZZAR  FEASTS  28S 

"Oh,  sure,"  returned  the  other  somewhat  downcast.  "But 
I'm  sorry  you're  puUin'  this  off  'fore  Christmas.  Seems  a 
shame  tuh  take  a  chance  right  around  th'  holidays  when 
yuhVe  got  so  many  things  tuh  attend  tuh.  Can't  you 
put  it  off?" 

Stephen,  thinking  of  Decimals  request,  shook  his  head  and 
smiled.  Grumbling,  Rag  unlocked  a  drawer  in  a  desk  and 
brought  out  a  large  chamois  belt,  lined  with  enormous  pockets. 

"It's  a  pity  some  of  them  bums  can't  take  a  chance 
theirselves  oncet  and  awhile,"  he  continued  to  protest,  as 
he  opened  the  first  compartment  on  the  belt  and  took  out 
a  piece  of  nickelled  metal  which,  on  being  pulled,  revealed 
itself  as  an  extension  jimmy,  most  useful  of  burglar's  tools. 
"They  got  a  great  nerve  sicking  you  onto  a  tough  joint 
like  that  there  Janissary  house.  I  think  you  're  a  sucker  to 
cut  it  up  fifty-fifty  with  them  when  you  take  all  the  risks, 
Steve.     It  ain't  fair." 

Stephen  shrugged  his  shoulders.  He  had  discarded  his 
outer  garments  and  now  stood,  a  stalwart,  muscular  figure, 
in  a  tightly  fitting  jersey  of  fine  silk  and  a  pair  of  short 
running  pants  of  the  same  material.  One  hardly  realized 
the  height  and  breadth  of  Stephen  until  he  stripped;  his 
form-fitting  English  clothes  gave  him  an  appearance  of 
exceeding  slenderness.  Now,  with  broad  chest  bulging  and 
great  cords  of  muscles  showing  under  the  pink  and  white  of 
rounded  arms,  he  looked  fit  to  step  in  any  ring  and  sustain 
the  honour  of  his  nation's  fighting  ability  against  all  comers. 

"What  kind  of  a  bit?"  inquired  Rag,  fingering  a  half 
dozen  of  these  nefariously  useful  articles. 

"I'm  not  quite  sure;  half-inch  I  should  say." 


234  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"What's  the 'pete'?" 

"George  thinks  it's  a  Mall-Harwin  23.  .  .  .  But 
it 's  one  of  those  covered  over  affairs  —  hidden  by  the  bottom 
of  a  writing-desk.  Better  put  in  the  quarter-inch  bit 
too.     Have  you  oiled  the  drill  lately?  " 

"I  oiled  it  just  after  that  Gerstein  touch.'* 

"Better  give  it  a  try-out,  then." 

Rag  unscrewed  a  bulb  from  the  overhead  electrolier 
and  attached  the  electric  connection  of  the  drill;  its  buzz 
was  only  faintly  indicated. 

"That's  all  right,"  Stephen  assured  him.  "Now  I'll 
want  some  soap,  a  wedge,  my  ruled  saw,  and  make  the  wire 
about  thirty  feet  long  this  time." 

"For  the  love  of  Mike!  Is  the  safe  that  far  away  from 
the  electric  connections?" 

"No,  but  I'll  have  to  use  the  wire  to  climb  the  porch." 

"Oh,  the  noose  business?" 

Stephen  nodded.  Rag  took  out  his  pocket  knife  and  be- 
gan to  unscrew  the  fuse  from  the  twelve  feet  of  insulated 
copper  wire  that  had  been  used  on  the  last  safe-breaking 
affair.  Removing  the  fuse,  he  added  to  the  wire  a  good 
twenty  feet,  braiding  it  carefully,  and  connecting  the  two 
ends  of  the  new  piece  with  the  fuse  wire  in  the  plug.  This 
done,  he  wound  it  up  and  placed  it  in  one  of  the  compart- 
ments of  the  chamois  belt. 

"*Soup'?" 

"You  know  I  never  use  it,"  answered  Stephen  impa- 
tiently. "Only  yeggs  need  nitro-glycerine.  I'd  be  a  fine 
one  blowing  out  a  combination  with  the  people  at  dinner 
right  under  me." 


BELSHAZZAR  FEASTS  9S5 

"If  you  muffled  it " 

"Well,  come  along  and  be  my  muffler  then.  Bone  heads 
like  you  are  cheaper  than  blankets,  and  you  carry  your- 
selves," laughed  Stephen.  "Take  that  bottle  and  throw  it 
in  the  nearest  sewer,  will  you.  Rag.''" 

"Oh,  you  new-fashioned  *  pete-men'  are  wonders,"  said 
Rag,  with  the  nearest  approach  to  a  sneer  of  which  his 
good-humoured  countenance  was  capable,  but  at  the  same 
time  laying  aside  the  bottle  with  the  dangerous  explosive 
and  lacing  the  chamois  belt  about  Stephen's  waist.  "/ 
wasn't  above  usin'  it  I  kin  tell  you  when  I  was  out  on  the 
'heel';  it  was  good  enough  for  me.'* 

"Yes,  and  so  was  that  little  town  up  river  with  the 
sweet,  familiar  name,"  returned  Stephen  smiling.  "So 
you'll  forgive  me  if  I  don't  emulate  you,  Ragsey.  Where's 
the  dicky  now?  " 

"Right  here  waiting  to  go  on,"  answered  Rag,  handing 
him  what  appeared  to  be  the  unattached  bosom  of  a  dress 
shirt  and  fastening  it  behind  by  joining  two  elastics,  Ste- 
phen meanwhile  snapping  the  catch  of  the  tab  below  into 
a  socket  in  the  chamois  belt.  A  poke  collar  fitted  snugly 
down  over  the  dicky  but  was  not  attached  to  it,  the  dress 
tie  being  pinned  to  the  collar,  so  that  the  false  front  could 
be  pulled  out  and  laid  aside  while  working  without  disturb- 
ing collar  and  tie. 

Save  for  this,  and  the  detached  cuffs  that  fastened  into 
the  sleeves  of  his  coat,  the  remainder  of  the  apparel  that 
Rag  brought  forth  was  of  the  familiar  variety  that  goes  to 
make  up  the  ensemble  of  a  gentleman  dressed  for  the 
evening. 


236                  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 
"Say,  Steve " 


Rag  was  plainly  ill  at  ease  as  he  surveyed  Stephen  in 
this  formal  attire. 

"I  kinda  hate  your  go  in'  off  like  this  —  pullin'  off  this 
kind  of  a  trick  so  close  to  Christmas." 

"You  said  that  before,  Ragsey." 

"Yes,  I  know;  but  say,  Steve,  I'm  thinkin'  of  that 
swell  little  lady  of  yours  and  —  oh,  say,  Steve  —  cut  ut 
out  to-night,  or — "he  added  eagerly,  "let  me  turn  it, 
will  you?" 

Stephen  laid  a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"Say,  Ragsey,  you  hate  me,  don't  you?" 

"  Yes,  like  my  own  mother,"  returned  Rag  grimly.  " Hon- 
est to  Gawd,  Steve,  I  b'lieve  I'd  rather  do  time  myself 
than  have  you  do  it.  Why  I  feel  like  you  was  my  own  kid. 
Ain  't  I  trained  you  up  from  one  that  high?  " 

He  measured  off  an  infinitesimal  space  with  his  hand. 

"And  I  wouldn't  'a*  made  no  crook  out  of  you  neither, 
if  I  'd  had  the  doin'  of  it,  you  bet,"  he  added  fiercely.  "  Say, 
Steve,  you  was  jest  the  cunningest  ever  was,  and  you'd 
give  your  shirt  to  a  perfect  stranger  even  then!  I  was 
crazy  about  you  the  minit  I  set  eyes  on  you  —  you  was 
such  a  funny  little  kid,  a-setting  there  by  the  fire  when  I 
played  *rag'  for  you  and  a  thinkin',  and  wonderin',  and  askin* 
me  questions  and  figurin'  how  you  could  do  nice  things  fer 
everybody.  Steve,  I  didn't  want  you  to  ever  go  on  the 
•heel.'     I " 

"Rag,  what's  the  matter  with  your  eyes?" 

"Oh,  I  ain't  goin'  to  'stall'  and  say  I  ain't  got  any  thin* 
in    them  —  I    ain't    ashamed.    You're    all    I    got.    I'm 


BELSHAZZAR  FEASTS  237 

forty-seven  years  old,  Steve,  forty-seven,  and  you're  the 
only  thing  in  the  world  that's  ever  cared  a  damn  whether 
I  ended  up  in  the  morgue  or  in  the  potter's  field.  Don't 
ever  think  I'd  'a'  taught  you  to  'nick'  anythin'  —  I  wanted 
you  to  grow  up  square.  I  —  aw,  Steve,  don 't  go  to-night ! 
Can  all  this  business,  marry  your  little  lady,  and  settle  down 
like  the  gen  '1  'm  'n  you  was  born  to  be.  I  '11  go  through  with 
you;  I'll  do  everythin'  I  kin  to  get  you  started  fair,  and 
all  I  ask  is  to  have  a  little  room  near  the  attic  to  sleep 
and  tear  off  a  meal  once  a  day.  Go  on,  Steve;  go  on, 
won't  you.''" 

For  the  first  time  Stephen  noted  the  furrows  in  Rag's 
forehead,  the  many  wrinkles  about  his  eyes  and  mouth. 
The  fact  that  this  man  —  a  free  agent  —  had  willingly  served 
him  for  more  than  fifteen  years,  asking  little  or  no  reward, 
brought  moisture  to  his  eyes  also. 

"Don't,  Rag  —  I've  got  to  go  through  with  this.  Don't 
keep  talking  about  it  —  please!  I'd  do  almost  anything 
else  you  asked  me  to,  but  I  can't  give  this  up.  But  say. 
Rag,  don't  think  all  this  affection  of  yours  is  on  one  side; 
next  to  Miss  Duress " 

Stephen  caught  both  hands  of  his  servitor  and  held  them 
in  a  pressure  so  firm  that  Rag  almost  winced  with  pain; 
then,  ashamed  of  his  emotion,  he  kicked  off  the  shoes  he 
wore,  making  considerable  noise,  and  stepped  into  the  felt- 
soled  pumps  that  stood  ready  for  him,  making  for  the  door 
before  Rag  could  speak  further. 

Riding  down  in  the  gilded  cage  and  passing  through  the 
pillared  halls,  Stephen  kept  his  black  velvet  hat  perched 
lightly  above  his  brows;  but  when  he  had  passed  a  block 


238  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

or  more  down  Fifth  Avenue,  he  twisted  the  front  down  over 
his  eyes  and  turned  up  the  velvet  collar  of  the  dark-coloured 
cravenette  that  he  wore,  transforming  himself  into  a  much 
more  usual  looking  person,  and  stepped  lightly  upon  a 
passing  motor  'bus  bound  south. 

He  whistled  as  the  heavy  motor  throbbed  beneath  him 
and  the  cimibersome  vehicle  lumbered  down  the  long  lane 
between  rows  of  bright  blue  jewels  that  seemed  to  meet 
away  down  there  at  Washington  Square,  around  which, 
somehow,  his  whole  life  seemed  to  be  centred.  The 
remainder  of  New  York  had  always  left  him  cold, 
lacking  for  him  either  atmosphere  or  charm.  He  passed 
brilliant  Forty-second  Street,  noting  in  the  distance  the 
cheap  expensiveness  of  Broadway,  the  dwelling-place  of 
strangers,  the  amusement  palaces  of  the  brainless  and  the 
imscrupulous  —  chaotic,  confused,  vast  without  strength, 
lacking  all  that  made  life  worth  while.  Down  the  jewelled 
lane,  past  shop  fronts  that  typified  the  apex  of  a  nation's 
ambition,  past  that  meaningless  pile  at  Thirty-fourth 
Street,  iron,  mortar,  and  lights,  the  darling  of  the  hearts  of 
those  from  out  of  town  who  were  supping  grandly  in  the 
cold  magnificence  of  a  palm  room  that  lacked  either  tropic 
charm  or  the  blazing  fires  of  the  North;  again  past  a  glitter- 
ing restaurant  where  many  electrics  seek  to  disguise  crum- 
bling walls,  and  artistic  decorations  attempt  to  retain  an 
atmosphere  that  is  nullified  by  coarse  manners,  unsuitable 
dress  clothes,  and  pretentious  jewellery  —  a  come-down, 
this,  from  the  dignified  folk  who  supped  there  serenely 
when  the  restaurant  had  another  name;  and  then  into  a 
darkened  Broadway  where  the  sheer  walls  of  a  fantastic 


BELSHAZZAR  FEASTS  239 

building  of  world-wide  fame  loom   up  like  the  sides  of  a 
mighty  ocean  liner. 

Back  to  a  Fifth  Avenue  of  shabby  shops  (once  the  town 
houses  of  those  who  had  supped  at  old  Delmonico  's)  flanked 
by  square  stone  buildings,  hideous  in  themselves,  and  ren- 
dered unbearable  to  the  sight  by  forests  of  signs  bearing 
Semitic  names  indicating  that  thousands  of  eyes  are  strained 
over  seams  and  buttonholes  far  into  the  night;  down  to  the 
actual  crude  vulgarity  of  Fourteenth  Street  with  its  cheer- 
ful throngs  seeking  amusement  for  next  to  nothing  —  the 
pleasure  centre  of  the  poor;  past  gloomy  and  decayed 
ghosts  of  houses,  and  then,  with  the  sight  of  the  gray  walls 
of  an  old  church,  through  the  windows  of  which  filtered  dim, 
dusky  light  upon  ivy  and  creepers  and  hoar  frost  that  lay 
thick  upon  its  garden  plot,  into  the  district  where  remains, 
in  all  Manhattan  town,  something  of  the  dignity  and  beauty 
of  age  in  the  midst  of  a  people  who  know  the  beauty  of  all 
that  is  old  only  as  a  name. 

n. 

THE   HEIR   TO   THE   HOUSE   RETURNS   TO   IT 

As  the  omnibus  sighted  the  church  and  its  dim  light, 
Stephen  descended  the  spiral  stairway,  and  slid  to  the 
street.  The  avenue  at  that  point  was  almost  deserted;  few 
traverse  it  so  late  nowadays,  and  the  night  was  cold, 
although  Stephen,  in  the  warmth  induced  by  excitement, 
hardly  realized  that  he  had  shivered  beneath  his  furs  earlier 
in  the  day.  Passing  the  church,  he  saw  that  the  Janissary 
house  was  ablaze  with  light  along  its  lower  floor,  and  noted 


240  AN  ENEMY  .TO  SOCIETY 

the  line  of  waiting  motor-cars  on  the  adjacent  street.  A 
thick  carpet  had  been  spread  from  between  the  Doric 
columns  at  the  head  of  the  front  steps,  a  carpet  that  stretched 
through  the  garden  and  down  to  the  curb,  and  over  it  an 
awning,  along  the  inside  of  which  were  strung  multi-coloured 
electric  arcs  that  picked  out  the  runway  from  the  surround- 
ing darkness,  so  that  no  one  within  several  blocks  of  the 
place  could  have  failed  to  note  that  they  were  making  merry 
within  the  house  of  Janissary.  Crowded  along  the  iron 
railings  with  the  spear  heads  was  the  usual  curious  crowd  of 
poor  folk  to  whom  even  a  position  on  the  outside  of  a  festiv- 
ity was  a  pleasant  break  in  the  monotony  of  drab-coloured 
lives,  although  the  full  enjoyment  of  their  feast  by 
proxy  was  somewhat  marred  by  two  ojBScious  policemen 
in  uniform  detailed  by  Janissary 's  request  to  guard  against 
the  possibility  of  some  shivering  wretch  resenting  with 
cold  steel  the  gathering  together  of  so  many  of  his  enemies 
for  merrymaking;  the  policemen,  having  nothing  better 
to  do,  sometimes  reminding  the  crowd  of  their  authority 
by  prodding  at  them  with  their  night  sticks  and  bidding 
them  begone. 

Stephen  passed  the  front  of  the  house,  apparently  be- 
traying only  a  mild  curiosity  concerning  the  plethora  of 
light,  but  noting  with  great  satisfaction  that  the  rear  of  the 
garden  was  as  dark  as  could  be  desired,  the  moon  yielding 
so  little  protection  to  the  Janissary  house  that  it  failed  even 
to  outline  the  oak  trees  and  rose  bushes  at  the  back.  The 
same  odd  feeling  of  familiarity  that  always  obsessed  Stephen 
when  passing  this  place  came  upon  him  a  hundredfold  now, 
and  he  found  himself  picturing  the  interior  of  the  house  as 


BELSHAZZAR  FEASTS  241 

plainly  as  though,  at  some  previous  time,  he  had  been  thor- 
oughly familiar  vsdth  it. 

He  passed  down  the  side  street.  Here  no  motors  light- 
ened the  dark  house  fronts  where  penurious  landladies 
turned  low  the  gas  in  the  houses  of  former  merchant  princes 
and  blooded  bucks.  When  he  came  into  the  darkness  of 
Washington  Court,  an  alley  lit  only  by  a  single  street  lamp, 
his  progress  was  necessarily  slow,  sidling  along  as  he  did 
close  to  the  fences  so  that  he  might  feel  the  bricks  of  the 
Janissary  wall  when  he  came  to  it,  and,  coincidently,  attract 
no  attention  from  passers-by  on  either  of  the  streets.  As  he 
moved,  holding  one  hand  lightly  against  the  boards,  the  other 
hand  went  beneath  his  coat,  unfastened  the  tab  of  the 
dicky,  removed  the  ruled  saw  from  within  its  compartment 
in  the  chamois  belt,  fastened  the  tab  again,  and  slipped  the 
saw  up  the  loose  sleeve  of  his  coat.  His  other  hand  now 
ceased  to  traverse  the  roughened  surface  of  the  bricks  and 
came  again  in  contact  with  wood,  stopping  at  the  jamb  of  the 
door.  Then,  flattening  his  palm,  and  keeping  the  side  of 
his  thumb  hard  against  the  jamb  until  the  third  finger  came 
in  contact  with  the  round  disc  of  brass  that  marked  the  loca- 
tion of  the  yale  lock,  he  slipped  the  saw  down  his  sleeve  and 
inserted  it  between  the  door  and  the  jamb  parallel  with  the 
disc.  Feeling  out  the  lock  bar,  he  brought  the  saw  under  it, 
dealing  it  several  smart  blows  until  he  loosened  its  tension 
sufficiently  to  insert  the  saw  between  the  lock  socket  and  the 
sharp  edge  of  the  truncated  bar,  which  flew  back  as  he  bent 
the  flexible  steel  toward  the  lock  disc. 

It  was  then  only  necessary  to  turn  the  door  knob  to 
make  an  entrance  as  lacking  in  difficulty  as  though  he  were 


242  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

possessed  of  the  key.  But,  before  entering,  he  mserted 
enough  of  his  face  to  peer  into  the  garden  in  case  danger 
might  be  lurking  there  in  the  shape  of  a  policeman  told  oflF 
to  guard  the  rear.  That  there  would  be  no  canine  disturb- 
ance he  knew,  otherwise  George  would  have  mentioned  the 
presence  of  a  dog. 

The  windows  above  the  first  floor  were  quite  dark;  from 
the  dining-room,  a  few  stray  shafts  of  light  percolated 
through  heavy  tapestry  curtains;  sufficient  to  indicate  that 
there  was  light  within,  but  not  enough  to  outline  anything 
in  the  darkness  outside.  The  windows  of  the  basement 
were  set  far  below  the  level  of  the  garden  and  in  a  bricked 
area  way  removed  by  five  or  six  feet. 

Stephen  closed  the  garden  gate  behind  him  softly  and 
stood  flattened  against  it  until  his  eyes  should  become  ac- 
customed to  the  darkness  and  give  him  the  lay  of  the  land. 
He  listened  intently  meanwhile,  hardly  breathing  lest  there 
should  be  another  waiting  in  that  same  darkness  whose  lack 
of  caution  in  this  matter  of  lung  filling  should  betray  his 
presence.  Soon,  he  made  out  a  pergola  with  some  rustic 
chairs  within  it,  one  or  two  flower  urns  muffled  in  winter 
straw,  a  bricked  pavement  running  between  two  sections 
of  garden  plot,  and  the  outlines  of  the  porch  with  its  sur- 
mounting knobs  of  wood. 

Keeping  his  saw  in  his  pocket,  for  he  would  need  it  again 
presently  for  the  window,  he  drew  from  the  chamois  belt 
the  coil  of  copper  wire,  making  a  noose  about  one  fuse 
plug  and  slipping  the  corresponding  plug  on  the  other  end 
through  this  noose  in  lasso  fashion.  Folding  this  in  his 
right  hand,  he  advanced  over  the  hardened  earth,  his  body 


BELSHAZZAR  FEASTS  243 

bent  double,  lifting  each  foot  high  in  air  and  placing  it 
down  with  great  care,  approaching  the  house  diagonally, 
in  this  slow  fashion,  his  point  of  attack  being  the  south  pillar 
of  the  porch.  When  within  a  few  feet  of  the  pillar,  but  out 
of  the  line  of  vision  of  any  one  who  might,  by  chance,  have 
their  noses  flattened  against  the  area  windows  below,  he 
threw  the  noose,  aiming  it  at  the  wooden  knob  at  the  angle 
formed  above  by  the  articulation  of  south  and  west  railings. 
Finding  no  resistance  as  he  sought  to  tighten  the  noose,  he 
hastily  jerked  it  back  over  his  head  lest  the  falling  of  the 
plug  upon  the  bricks  of  the  walk  create  a  soimd  to  attract 
attention. 

Gathering  the  wire  together  again,  he  rearranged  it  into 
a  loop  slightly  greater  in  circumference  than  the  first  one 
and  taking,  if  possible,  more  deliberate  aim,  again  hurled  it 
at  the  knob.  Hearing  a  slight  rasp,  he  tightened  it  quickly 
in  his  hand  before  the  plug  should  rattle  against  the  knob 
which  the  noose  had  now  caught.  His  next  move  was 
executed  with  remarkable  rapidity,  for  he  had  those  people 
in  the  basement  to  consider  and  was  not  quite  sure  what 
tricks  shadows  were  likely  to  play  on  him;  so,  hardening 
his  muscles,  he  took  a  short  running  jump,  and,  his  feet 
against  the  pillar,  drew  himself  up,  hand  over  hand,  by 
means  of  the  wire  which  was  held  taut  by  his  weight  until 
he  was  enabled  to  place  one  foot  on  the  edge  of  the  porch, 
and  levitate  himself  with  a  movement  like  the  straightening 
of  a  bow  string.  Both  gloved  hands  were  now  fastened  upon 
the  railing. 

He  paused  there  for  the  moment  to  remove  the  noose 
from  the  wooden  knob,  wind  up  the  wire,  and  replace  it 


244  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

in  its  compartment  in  the  belt;  then,  putting  a  hand  on  the 
knob,  he  mounted  the  rail  and  hugged  the  iron  pipe  at  the 
southwest  angle  of  the  house. 

The  confused  sound  of  many  people  in  animated  conver- 
sation buzzed  in  his  ear  as  it  was  pressed  against  a  pane  in 
the  dining-room  window  nearest  him;  but,  try  as  he  might, 
he  found  from  this  point  no  parting  of  the  tapestry  curtains 
that  would  disclose  to  him  the  sight  of  the  party  within, 
which  interested  him,  however,  only  so  far  as  the  servants 
were  concerned;  for  it  was  the  butler's  pantry  just  ofif  the 
porch  that  he  was  to  enter,  and  he  considered  it  advisable 
to  discover  through  the  dining-room  windows,  if  possible, 
the  number  of  liveried  gentlemen  on  duty  there. 

Descending  to  the  porch  again,  and  stepping  flat-footedly 
as  before,  he  searched  in  vain  for  some  parting  of  the  cur- 
tains wide  enough  to  permit  of  the  application  of  an  eye; 
but  the  shafts  of  light  filtered  through  interstices  of  less 
width  than  that  of  the  thinnest  tissue  paper,  and  he  re- 
turned to  his  point  of  attack  on  the  railing,  removing  from 
his  belt  the  wooden  wedge  suggested  by  George  le  Fay  and 
feeling  for  the  hook  holding  the  pipe  to  the  wall  of  which  the 
oflBcial  "sounder"  had  also  spoken.  He  discovered  it  —  a 
bit  of  iron  shaped  like  a  *' V"  about  on  the  level  of  the  small 
window  that  opened  into  the  pantry,  which  was  situated 
some  three  and  a  half  feet  away. 

The  wedge,  a  bit  of  walnut  running  to  a  thin  edge,  fitted 
itself  nicely  in  place  when  tucked  imder  the  water  pipe 
hook,  and  Stephen,  holding  to  the  pipe,  raised  himself  un- 
til he  could  rest  one  foot  upon  the  bit  of  wood  and  test 
its  ability   to  hold  his  weight.     Finding  it  equal  to  the 


BELSHAZZAR  FEASTS  245 

emergency,  he  swung  around  on  the  pipe,  still  hugging  it 
tightly,  and  stretched  out  the  other  foot  tentatively  toward 
the  window  sill  of  the  pantry,  missing  it  by  several  inches. 
Swinging  down  to  the  porch  rail  again,  he  rested  his  arms 
for  a  moment,  and  now,  having  calculated  the  exact  dis- 
tance, landed  his  foot  squarely  upon  the  sill  and  stood  in 
much  the  same  attitude  as  a  dancer  doing  what  is  in- 
elegantly termed  *'  the  split,"  one  foot  on  the  wedge  and  one 
on  the  sill,  flattened  against  the  wall,  one  hand  steadying 
him  against  the  water  pipe,  the  other  holding  to  the  win- 
dow jamb.  He  observed,  happily,  that  the  window  was 
hung  with  chintz  inside,  in  addition  to  the  drawn  blinds 
of  brown  holland,  precluding  any  chance  of  his  being  seen 
by  those  within.  So,  taking  a  firmer  grip  upon  the  window 
jamb,  he  steadied  the  foot  on  the  sill  and  drew  himself  away 
from  wedge  and  water  pipe,  bringing  his  other  foot  close  and 
yet  closer  as  one  shuts  up  a  pair  of  compasses  tmtil  the  points 
touch. 

It  was  now  that  he  discovered  that,  through  the  very  fact 
that  no  one  from  within  could  observe  him  without,  he  was 
unable  to  observe  whether  or  not  there  was  any  one  within. 
So  he  laid  an  ear  to  the  glass  and  listened. 

From  the  absence  of  either  conversation  or  the  clattering 
of  dishes,  he  judged  it  safe  to  begin  operations,  and,  insert- 
ing the  thin  saw  at  the  junction  of  the  upper  and  lower 
sashes,  he  pushed  up  the  catch  silently  and  without  the 
slightest  difficulty.  Returning  the  saw  to  its  place  beneath 
his  garments,  he  touched  the  puttied  surface  of  one  of  the 
pane  mouldings,  lowering  the  upper  sash  a  trifle  from  the 
top,  so  that,  were  there  the  slightest  noise  within  —  even 


246  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

the  creaking  of  a  dumb-waiter  cord  —  it  would  reach  his 
ears.  He  became  possessed  of  no  auricular  novelty  by 
the  act,  however;  his  olfactory  nerves  receiving  the  only 
new  message,  which  was  that  the  dumb-waiter  shaft  evi- 
dently had  close  proximity  to  the  kitchen.  The  combined 
aroma  of  fragrant  roasted  meats,  coflfees,  cinnamons,  and 
other  sweets  came  to  his  nostrils. 

He  closed  the  aperture  above,  and,  dallying  no  longer, 
threw  the  lower  sash  high;  waited,  perhaps,  a  second,  then 
hastily  tying  a  black  silk  handkerchief  over  the  lower  por- 
tion of  his  face,  and  pulling  his  hat  down  to  his  eyes,  slipped 
into  the  pantry  —  which  was  quite  untenanted  at  that  mo- 
ment —  pulled  down  the  lower  sash,  readjusted  the  window 
catch,  and,  snatching  oflF  the  black  silk  handkerchief  and 
thrusting  it  and  his  soft  hat  into  a  pocket  of  his  cravenette, 
he  turned  down  the  velvet  collar  of  that  useful  garment  and 
strolled  out  into  the  back  hall  as  unconcernedly  as  would  any 
invited  guest,  his  passport  his  scrupulously  correct  attire. 

The  door  to  the  dining-room  opening  on  this  hall  was 
slightly  ajar;  but  any  conversation,  any  clatter  of  knives, 
forks,  and  spoons,  any  tinkle  of  delicate  glasses  or  hum  of 
conversation  that  might  have  drifted  through  this  open 
door  was  drowned  by  the  lively  playing  of  a  Tzigane 
orchestra  in  a  forest  of  palms  that  led  to  the  drawing 
room. 

The  hall  in  which  Stephen  found  himself  was  frescoed, 
Murillo  fashion,  its  floor  laid  with  carpet  of  such  softness 
that  hisfelt-so  led  shoes  were  unnecessary  precautions.  The 
stairway  before  him  was  of  the  narrow,  straight-baluster 
fashion  found  in  old  houses.    He  ascended  it  two  steps  at  a 


BELSHAZZAR  FEASTS  247 

time,  emerging  from  its  narrow  confines  upon  a  landing 
that  gave  upon  another  hall  —  this  one  square,  hung  with 
genre  pictures,  some  glassed  and  boxed  in  velvet-bordered 
frames,  others  painted  on  panels,  but  all  more  or  less  of  the 
same  size.  Many  doors  opened  on  this  hall,  which  struck 
Stephen  as  oddly  familiar,  although  he  seemed  to  remember 
none  of  these  small  paintings  nor  indeed  the  dull,  autumnal 
shades  of  the  soft  carpet.  A  vivid  recollection  of  a  floor 
covering  in  Turkey  red  for  the  moment  effaced  the  present 
hall  from  his  memory.  The  second  Mrs.  Janissary  had  been 
possessed  of  some  artistic  purpose. 

He  hardly  needed  to  remember  the  directions  of  George 
le  Fay;  but  instinctively  turned  to  the  library  door  and 
entered;  then  closed  himself  into  total  darkness  and  shot 
the  bolt.  Having  some  dim  recollection  of  another  door 
he  took  from  his  waistcoat  pocket  what  appeared  to  be  an 
ordinary  hunting-case  watch,  but  which,  when  touched  in 
the  right  spot,  threw  a  bright  electric  glow  over  the  hand 
that  held  it  and  a  few  objects  in  the  inmiediate  proximity 
of  that  hand. 

He  moved  across  the  room,  avoiding  tables  and  chairs, 
to  the  opposite  door.  This  he  pulled  slightly  ajar  to  note 
that  it  gave  upon  a  small  balcony,  from  either  side  of  which 
stairs  ascended  and  descended.  He  caught  a  glimpse, 
below,  of  the  Tziganes  among  the  palms,  their  orange  coats 
frogged  with  silver,  busily  scraping.  Then  he  bolted  this 
door  also. 

The  library  ran  half  the  width  of  the  house,  with  windows 
looking  to  the  south;  and,  although  the  blinds  were  drawn 
down  and  the  heavy,  violet-shaded  portieres  pulled  together. 


248  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

he  remembered  the  luminous  shafts  that  had  crept  through 
the  dining-room  windows  and  had  no  temptation  to  turn 
on  the  Ughts  here  for  possible  guardians  outside  to  note. 
Instead  he  began  to  explore  the  room  inch  by  inch  until 
the  light  from  his  watch  disclosed  the  piece  of  Chippendale. 
Kneeling  before  it,  he  pushed  a  mahogany  panel  backward 
and  shoved  it  up  through  its  groove,  fastening  it  with  a 
catch  above. 

The  safe  now  stood  revealed,  and,  as  George  had  surmised 
from  long  acquaintance  with  the  infinite  variety  of  such 
"burglar  proof"  articles,  it  was  indeed  a  hall-marwin, 
£3,  this  information  being  painted  in  bold  letters  upon  its 
iron  front. 

Holding  the  watch  close  to  the  combination,  Stephen 
again  had  recourse  to  that  indispensable  saw  which  he  now 
used  as  a  ruler,  the  light  from  the  watch  revealing  the  fact 
that  it  was  divided  off  into  little  spaces  of  one  twelfth  of  an 
inch  each.  Carefully  Stephen  measured  oflf  an  inch  directly 
above  the  combination  and  marked  it  with  a  bit  of  red  chalk. 
Laying  aside  the  chalk,  he  measured  it  again  to  verify  the 
exact  inch  and  made  at  rifling  correction  —  perhaps  one  half 
of  one  thirtieth  of  an  inch.  Again  he  measured,  this  time 
from  the  first  point  two  inches  diagonally  each  way,  dotting 
each  point  of  attack  with  the  chalk  as  before  and  verifying 
the  dots'  correctneips. 

The  saw  replaced,  he  removed  the  copper  wire  a  second 
time,  crossed  to  the  nearest  electric  candelabrum,  unscrewed 
one  of  the  arcs,  and  substituted  for  it  the  fuse  plug  of  the 
wire.  To  its  companion  plug,  at  the  wire 's  other  extremity, 
he  attached  the  electric  brace  —  a  sectional  affair  which  he 


BELSHAZZAR  FEASTS  249 

first  fitted  together  —  and,  finding  the  connection  satis- 
factory, screwed  into  the  brace  the  half-inch  bit. 

He  snapped  on  the  power,  holding  the  drill  away  from  him 
and  listening  to  the  faint  buzzing  of  it  as  the  bit  revolved 
rapidly  through  the  empty  air.  Carrying  it  over  to  the  safe 
he  turned  off  the  power  by  the  brace  snap.  Carefully,  he 
applied  moist  soap  to  the  first  red  dot,  doing  as  much  for  the 
entire  length  of  the  bit.  Clamp;ng  the  steel  end  of  the 
brace  against  his  knee,  into  which  it  fitted  as  it  was  designed 
to  do,  he  held  the  electric  watch  close  to  the  soaped  dot, 
and  turned  on  the  power  by  the  brace  snap.  Pulling  out  the 
dicky,  he  threw  it  on  the  floor. 

The  bit  began  to  eat  into  the  steel  of  the  safe  with  a 
slight,  rasping  sound;  Stephen  withdrew  the  point,  soaped 
it  more  carefully,  and  again  applied  it.  This  time  there 
resulted  only  a  sort  of  worried  birring  like  that  which  might 
come  from  a  very  large  fly  imprisoned  in  a  very  small  bottle. 

Stephen  pressed  his  knee  gently,  and,  alternately  pushing 
and  removing  the  bit  to  soap  it,  the  minutes  began  to  wear 
away.  At  intervals,  he  would  press  the  watch  and  the  light 
from  it  would  disclose  the  remarkable  picture  of  a  man  in 
correct  evening  dress,  but  wearing  instead  of  the  usual 
snowy  front  an  undervest  of  pink  silk,  kneeling  and  peering 
anxiously  at  a  very  small  bit  of  steel  entering  a  hole  which 
seemed  yet  again  smaller. 

m 

"grandfather  goose"  cries  quits  with  the  wolf 

In  the  rambling  old  room  at  the  top  of  the  Dominie's 
House  —  attic,  studio,  lumber  room,  depending  upon  the 


250  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

uses  to  which  it  was  put  and,  in  this  case,  all  three,  for  Hil- 
ary Quackenbos  was  accustomed  to  use  it  when  he  wished 
to  indulge  his  fancy  for  mediocre  oils  and  water-colours  — 
Van  Tromp  was  arraying  himself  with  trembling  old  hands 
in  vestments  last  used  in  the  early  eighties,  when  on  a  cer- 
tain auspicious  occasion  he  had  "given  away"  his  sister 
in  St.  Mark's  church  to  a  very  deserving  young  plumber 
who  had  taken  her  West  to  share  his  fortunes.  The  little 
windows  under  the  eaves,  outside  which  swallows  built 
nests  and  warred  with  energetic  English  sparrows  for  their 
possession,  were  covered  with  the  dust  of  a  decade,  for 
Hilary  seldom  used  the  place  nowadays  and  even  the  ser- 
vants knew  they  need  not  bother  about  "old  Trompey." 
The  long,  slanting  sheet  of  glass  which  had  provided  Hilary 
with  his  "north  light"  was  covered  with  the  soot  from 
surrounding  chimneys,  and  the  room  itself,  intended  by  the 
architect  to  have  considerable  natural  illumination,  was  ever 
in  a  semi-twilight.  Van  Tromp  hardly  knew,  save  when 
informed,  what  the  hour  was,  although  a  great  mahogany 
hall  clock  graced  one  end  of  the  room.  But  the  rope  holding 
its  p)endulum  had  rotted  while  it  stood  there,  the  bit  of  brass 
falling  several  years  before  while  the  old  man  lay  sleeping 
and  causing  him  to  shriek  aloud  in  terror,  imagining  The 
Wolf  had  temporarily  recovered  the  use  of  his  limbs  and 
had  come  up  stairs  to  murder  him  while  he  slept.  About 
a  four-poster  bed  in  another  comer,  musty  hangings  exuded 
a  smell  as  of  the  grave.  The  brass  on  an  ancient  "high- 
boy" near  by  was  now  as  funereal  as  a  sexton's  spade;  and 
a  battered  harpsichord  stood  forlornly  upon  two  legs  sup- 
porting itself  against  its  more  stable  companion. 


BELSHAZZAR  FEASTS  251 

Upon  a  little  iron  truckle  bed,  more  reminiscent  of  a  hos- 
pital than  of  a  home,  lay  Van  Tromp  's  tribute  to  the  dignity 
of  one  "giving  away"  a  fair  young  lady;  trousers  of  the  vari- 
ety once  known  as  "sponge-bag,"  a  chess-board  of  complex 
lines  in  black  over  a  dun-coloured  ground;  a  black  garment 
with  very  short  tails  —  irreverently  alluded  to  as  "spikes" 
by  the  gamins  of  1885;  a  "made-up"  ascot  tie,  termed  by 
Van  Tromp 's  kind  a  "puflF,"  secured  in  the  centre  of  its 
folds  by  a  bit  of  wax  which  even  one  with  a  combination  of 
astigmatism  and  myopia  in  their  most  virulent  forms  could 
not  have  mistaken  for  a  seed  pearl;  a  blanket-red  waist- 
coat with  small  gun-metal  balls  for  buttons;  a  pair  of  patent- 
leather  shoes,  long  and  sharp  enough  to  inflict  a  mortal 
wound  upon  one  with  tender  flesh,  and  a  top  hat  so  narrow 
of  brim  and  so  high  of  crown  that  no  better  description 
than  the  colloquial  "stove  pipe"  could  be  desired. 

He  knew  that  his  dinner  had  been  served  him  at  a  quarter 
past  six;  he  had  been  sure  that  the  consumption  of  it  had 
lasted  no  longer  than  it  took  the  clock  hands  to  reach  around 
to  the  Roman  letters  that  stood  for  the  beginning  of  the 
succeeding  hour.  After  that  he  had  hobbled  painfully  from 
the  room,  fpr  he  had  bethought  that,  if  he  was  to  go  to  tri- 
umph over  his  enemy,  he  must  array  himself  in  purple  and 
fine  linen. 

The  excitement,  the  thought  that  his  vengeance  was  soon 
to  be,  and,  now,  the  infinite  satisfaction  that  came  to  him 
when  he  gazed  between  the  two  candles  before  the  dusty 
pier  glass  at  his  aged  form  on  which  the  bygone  finery  hung 
in  loose  folds,  were  all  as  draughts  of  the  alchemist's  elixir 
to  the  old  grocer.    With  great  precision,  he    drew  on  his 


252  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

moth-eaten  white  cotton  gloves,  and  tapped  the  floor  with 
a  knotted  ash  stick  which  an  Irish  customer  had  once  pre- 
sented him.  The  knock  upon  his  door  disturbed  him  not 
at  all. 

"  Mr.  Axtell  's  just  a-tole  a-me  you  'd  a-better  come  a-down 
a-right  away,"  said  the  black-banged,  plaid-bloused  Italian 
maid-servant,  inserting  a  portion  of  her  face  in  the  room. 
And  then,  startled  by  his  appearance,  she  went  off  into  peal 
after  peal  of  Neapolitan  mirth. 

"You  look-a  just  a-lik-a  th'  padroney,  he  look-a  whan-a 
he  come-a  coUect-a  th*  mon*  from-a  th'  boot-black-a  stand," 
she  informed  him  candidly  between  gasps  of  mirth.  "Also 
you  look-a  like-a  th*  monk  my  brud  he-a  take-a  on  th'  organ 
for-a  beg-a.'* 

He  hardly  heard  her,  so  intent  was  he  upon  the  vision 
of  himself  in  the  mirror. 

"You  come-a  right  away  I  tell-a  Mr.  Axtell?"  she  asked. 

Mechanically  he  turned  from  the  mirror  to  follow  her. 
Old  habits  are  not  broken  even  when  the  hour  of  one's  ven- 
geance is  at  hand.  For  the  moment  he  forgot  all  he  was 
that  night  to  do;  remembered  only  that  the  master  had  called 
and  that  he  must  come  at  once  lest  the  servant  be  bidden  to 
give  him  no  food  and  he  go  to  his  cold  room  without  even 
a  candle  to  keep  away  the  ghosts  of  memory  that  crowded 
around  him  in  the  darkness. 

His  old  lameness  seemed  to  descend  upon  him  at  the  same 
time,  and,  though  he  had  come  up  the  steps  with  the  elastic 
muscles  of  youth,  he  crawled  down  with  the  pain  and  pre- 
caution of  age. 

He  entered  the  second-floor  ifront  trembling  in  anticipation 


BELSHAZZAR  FEASTS  253 

of  threats  and  punishment  for  something  he  had  done  of 
which  he  had  prescience  only  vaguely.  Banished  from  his 
mind  were  the  thoughts  of  his  once  radiant  attire  and  of  the 
great  purpose  which  had  been  the  cause  of  his  donning 
them.  He  saw  only  the  evil,  hateful  face  of  The  Wolf, 
eyes  burning  wickedly  under  heavy  white  brows. 

For  the  first  few  seconds  of  Van  Tromp  's  presence  in  the 
room,  Axtell  was  too  amazed  to  burst  into  the  violent  tirade 
he  had  been  bottling  up  until  his  butt  should  enter.  Now 
he  took  stock  of  the  old  fellow  —  the  hat  upon  his  head,  the 
gaudy  waistcoat,  the  ridiculous  coat  and  shoes,  and  burst 
into  laughter  as  unlike  the  servant's  merry  unloosening  of 
merriment  as  two  things  bearing  the  same  name  could 
possibly  be;  for  Axtell 's  was  induced  by  the  thought  that  the 
other  old  man  had  finally  lost  what  little  remained  of  his 
wandering  wits,  which  had  wandered  afar  once  too  often  and 
now  were  gone  forever. 

"Ha,  Grandfather  Goose,"  he  croaked.  "Grandfather 
Goose  posing  for  his  picture.  Never  was  there  a  picture 
like  you'll  make,  Grandfather  Goose.  Come  here,  old 
imbecile.'* 

The  thin  brass  poker  was  in  his  hands,  but  he  stealthily 
slid  it  backward  in  the  hope  the  old  man  would  not  notice 
and  approach  the  fire  without  apprehension.  His  hopes 
were  realized,  not  because  of  his  sleight  of  hand  work,  but 
for  the  reason  that  two  forces  battled  within  old  Van  Tromp's 
brain  —  one  the  remembrance  that  he  had  started  to  per- 
form some  great  deed  that  he  could  not  remember;  the 
other  his  ever  present  fear  of  this  evil  old  satyr  who  sat 
before  him. 


254  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

He  came  forward  unsteadily  and,  when  he  was  near  enough, 
the  poker  slid  back  again  through  Axtell's  hands  catching 
Van  Tromp  heavily  just  below  the  third  waistcoat  button 
and  sprawling  him  on  the  floor  where  he  lay  beyond  the 
reach  of  his  tormentor,  whining  and  crying  like  a  child  in 
pain  and  wondering  stupidly  what  had  happened  to  him. 
For  a  long  time  he  remained  in  this  position  until  the  actual 
pain  was  succeeded  by  a  dull  lethargy  from  which  there 
appeared  no  good  reason  to  rouse  himself. 

But,  presently,  he  became  aware  of  something  that  made  a 
monotonous  sound;  not  a  sound  of  any  import,  only  a  steady, 
regular  attack  upon  something  in  his  brain  that,  though 
dormant,  was  yet  sentient  to  a  certain  long-desired  happen- 
ing, the  unfulfilment  of  which  tortured  him.  There  was 
something  in  this  regular  tick-tick  of  the  mantel  clock 
that  acted  as  shepherd  to  his  wandering  wits.  He  lay  very 
quiet  and  thinking  hard.  Then  he  raised  himself  on  his 
elbow  and  stared  at  the  clock's  face. 

A  quarter  to  nine! 

It  was  as  a  whip-lash  laid  across  his  eyes;  he  stared,  al- 
most blinded.  A  certain  frenzy  took  possession  of  him. 
A  quarter  to  nine !  Stephen  was  to  have  gone  to  the  house 
at  eight.  No,  no!  The  dinner  was  to  have  begun  at  eight; 
that  was  it.  Stephen  would  not  be  there  until  later.  He 
still  had  time. 

Forgetting  Axtell,  he  scrambled  up  and  made  for  the  door, 
his  hat  and  stick  forgotten.  But  the  remembrance  of  the 
distance  to  the  Janissary  house  —  a  good  five  blocks  — 
halted  him. 

He  turned  to  view  his  evil  old  companion. 


BELSHAZZAR  FEASTS  255 

Axtell  had  money  —  small  change  for  the  servants  that 
he  kept  in  the  pocket  of  the  dressing  gown  he  wore.  Van 
Tromp  knew  he  would  need  that  money  if  he  was  to  reach 
the  Janissary  house;  a  weakness  was  already  beginning  to 
assail  his  legs.  He  came,  then,  directly  across  the  room  and 
thrust  his  hand  into  The  Wolf's  pocket.  The  fingers  fast- 
ened on  some  crumpled  bills  and  he  drew  them  out  eagerly, 
not  heeding  the  wild  ravings  of  the  paralytic  who  sat  help- 
less to  interfere. 

Van  Tromp  shoved  the  money  into  his  trousers'  pockets, 
and,  Axtell,  finally  gaining  his  attention,  looked  upon  a  face 
as  distorted  as  his  own. 

"Screaming  —  screaming  won't  do  it,"  gloated  Van 
Tromp,  thrusting  his  neck  forward  and  looking  down  at 
Axtell,  his  eyes  gleaming  with  fanatical  fury.  "Screaming 
won't  do  it;  they  know  as  how  you  always  scream  at  old 
Trompey  for  nothing  and  they  won't  come  when  it's  some- 
thing. Ones  that  read  the  Good  Book  every  Sunday  reg'- 
lar  with  or  without  glasses  is  protected  by  Something  High- 
er'n  you.  'Blessed  are  the  meek  for  they  shall  'herit  the 
earth'  has  been  said  and  old  Trompey  has  always  been 
meek  and  a  w^itin.'  And  to-night's  Trompey 's  'heritance. 
You  as  always  despised  him,  and  others  what  is  higher  in 
their  pride  and  pomp  than  ever  you  was  or  will  be  —  them 
too  is  to  have  a  fall  to-night  from  old  Trompey,  for  into  his 
hand  has  been  give  a  weapon  which  is  as  keen  as  a  two- 
edged  sword;  for  bein'  meek,  as  was  expressly  commanded 
he  should  be,  is  the  weapon  given.  Look,"  he  cried 
shrilly,  in  a  tone  that  matched  Axtell 's  own,  "look  upon  the 
weapon  which  will  humble  the  proud  and  cause  them  to 


256  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

gnash  their  teeth  and  wail  —  yea  even  in  their  high  places 
—  look!" 

His  withered  hand  held  under  Axtell's  nose  the  mate  to 
the  silent  messenger  that  had  gone  to  Janissary.  Axtell's 
eyes  grew  glassy  as  he  stared  and  understood;  his  venomous 
tongue  was  frozen  within  his  mouth.  Old  Van  Tromp 
reached  for  his  fallen  hat  and  placed  it  on  his  head,  taking 
up  the  knotted  ash  stick  at  the  same  moment,  and  viewing 
his  enemy  with  gleaming  eyes.  Then  he  turned,  and  in  the 
silence  that  followed,  left  the  room  and  slammed  the  door 
behind  him. 

He  hurried  down  the  stairs  and  out  of  the  front  door 
hobbling  away  from  Chapel  Street  lest  Axtell  find  speech 
and  send  the  servants  after  him.  With  the  aid  of  his  stick, 
he  soon  found  himself  in  the  glare  of  Sixth  Avenue,  looking 
about  in  vain  for  a  vehicle  of  some  sort  which  would  convey 
him  speedily  to  his  destination.  None  being  in  sight,  he 
dragged  himself  across  the  street  and  signalled  an  approach- 
ing surface  car  bound  up  town,  pulling  himself  upon  the 
platform  with  the  assistance  of  the  uniformed  conductor, 
and,  after  paying  his  fare,  remaining  in  the  open,  unmind- 
ful of  the  cold,  and  peering  eagerly  at  the  lamp  posts  bearing 
the  numbers  of  the  intersecting  streets. 

"Where  d'you  wanta  git  off,  grandad?"  asked  the  con- 
ductor with  rough  kindness.  But  Van  Tromp  did  not  hear 
him;  he  was  counting  on  nerveless  fingers.  Ah !  that  grating 
and  boimcing  meant  they  were  crossing  Eighth  Street 
where  there  was  another  car  line. 

"  Eighth  —  Ninth  —  Tenth '* 

He  went  on,  counting  mechanically. 


BELSHAZZAR  FEASTS  257 

"Here  —  here,"   he   shouted   suddenly. 

The  conductor,  with  that  respect  for  age  found  among 
the  very  poor,  helped  him  ofiF  the  car.  Van  Tromp  hurried 
to  the  street  and  across  it  to  Fifth  Avenue  —  a  long  block 
for  one  so  old.  The  corner  finally  reached,  he  paused, 
looking  about  him  for  the  Janissary  house.  With  its 
blaze  of  lights  it  was  impossible  to  miss.  He  made  haste 
toward  it,  reached  the  carpet  rimner,  and  stood  under  the 
awning  with  the  light  of  the  multi-coloured  arcs  upon  him 
as  he  laid  a  hand  on  the  latch  of  the  iron  gate. 

The  two  men  in  uniform  hurried  up  and  took  him  by 
the  arms. 

"Heie,  git  away  from  this  joint,**  growled  one, 

"You  got  a  nerve,  you  old  panhandler,"  augmented 
the  other. 

With  the  dignity  born  of  his  great  mission,  he  threw 
them  off. 

"I'm  to  see  Mr.  Janissary,**  he  said. 

"Oh,  you're  to  see  Mr.  Janissary,  are  you?** 

"Yes,"  replied  the  old  man  simply.  "Take  me  to  him  — 
take  me  to  hip,  I  tell  you,**  he  added  fiercely,  "or  you'll 
suffer  —  suffer  —  suffer.** 

There  was  a  something  to  his  demeanour  that  gave  the 
policemen  uneasiness.  They  viewed  each  other.  Van 
Tromp  lifted  the  latch  of  the  iron  gate  and  passed  in. 

"Better  let  him  go,'*  said  the  first  policeman  doubtfully. 
"Kneebreeks  is  inside.    He'll  look  out  fer  him " 

"Yes,  and  he'll  give  us  hell  if  we  let  any  of  these  anarchist 
guys  past  us.    We  better  go  in  with  him.     Come  on." 

They  followed  the  hobbling  old  man  along  the  lane  of 


258  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

light,  up  the  garden  walk  through  the  entrance  formed 
by  the  Doric  columns,  and  stood  by  him  as  the  servant 
opened  the  door  and  would  have  barred  it  against  the  old 
man's  entrance.  But  Van  Tromp  pushed  him  aside,  loudly 
calling  the  name  of  Janissary  —  undismayed  even  by  the 
blaze  of  lights,  the  tropical  wealth  of  palms,  and  the  mag- 
nificent  musicians   in   their   orange   and   silver   uniforms. 

A  figure,  heavy,  yet  sure  footed,  detached  itself  from  the 
shadows  back  of  the  palms  and  came  forward.  It  was 
Kneebreeks  of  detective  headquarters,  specially  detailed 
to  look  after  the  welfare  of  Mr.  Janissary  and  his  guests. 
He  viewed  the  old  man  with  the  ugly  bulldozing  look  that 
was  habitually  his  when  on  duty,  and  the  policemen,  scent- 
ing danger  for  themselves,  made  haste  to  explain. 

"He  wants  to  see  Mr.  Janissary.  He  said  we  were  to  take 
him  to  Mr.  Janissary  or  we'd  suffer,"  submitted  the  first 
officer  weakly. 

"Say,  Lieutenant,  come  here,"  added  the  younger  and 
wiser  man  and,  taking  the  arm  of  his  superior,  whispered: 

"He's  liable  to  be  Janissary's  brother  —  uncle  —  or 
something  —  look  at  the  way  he's  got  up;  eccentric  old 
millionaire  probably.  That's  why  I  let  him  by;  you  know 
these  big  guys  have  all  got  funny  looking  relations.     See?  " 

Kneebreeks  did  see,  and  knew  there  was  wisdom  in  his 
subordinate's  remarks,  but  was  loath  to  admit  that  he 
accepted  them  against  his  own  judgment.  He  therefore 
formulated  in  speech,  a  theory  of  his  own  in  which  he  had 
no  belief. 

"Probably  from  Mr.  Janissary's  office,"  he  said  aloud. 
"Is  it  important,  sir?" 


BELSHAZZAR  FEASTS  259 

His  bearing  had  undergone  a  change  since  the  second 
officer  had  spoken;  he  was  now  almost  respectful. 

Van  Tromp  nodded.  He  was  too  exhausted  from  his 
arduous  walk  and  the  excitement  of  his  squabble  with  the 
policemen  to  have  breath  for  words. 

"Just  wait  a  minute,  then,  "  said  the  lieutenant,  "and 
I'll  have  Mr.  Janissary  come  out.     What  name.''" 

"No  name." 

"No  name?" 

Van  Tromp  shook  his  head. 

"You're  sure  it's  important  now?  Mr.  Janissary  is  hav- 
ing a  big  dinner  party.     I  don't  want  to  disturb  him." 

"Policeman  —  policeman,"  the  old  man  cried  fiercely, 
finding  his  breath  as  he  saw  the  precious  moments  slip- 
ping away,  "tell  Mr.  Janissary  to  come  —  at  once  —  at 
once ! " 

His  tone  convinced  Kneebreeks  that  the  affair  was  no 
ordinary  one;  but,  even  so,  his  eternal  suspicion  did  not 
desert  him.  Linking  his  arm  in  that  of  the  second  police- 
man he  drew  him  toward  the  palms. 

"Keep  your  hand  on  your  stick;  if  the  old  guy  draws 
a  gun  or  a  knife  or  tries  to  do  anything  screwy,  brain  him!" 

He  passed  the  palms  and  entered  the  dining-room  by  the 
rear  hall  door.  In  the  buzz  of  conversation  around  him. 
Janissary  did  not,  at  first,  hear  Kneebreeks 's  low  tones  at 
his  back.     Kneebreeks  repeated  his  words. 

"  What 's  that?    What 's  that?  "  asked  Janissary  irritably. 

"Lieutenant  Kneebreeks  from  headquarters,  sir " 

"Yes;  I  know  you.     What  do  you  want?" 

"A  man   outside  —  won't  give  any  name  —  says  it's 


260  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

most  important  and  that  I  should  fetch  you  at  once.  A 
very  old  man,  sir.     Thought  it  best  to  tell  you." 

Stephen  Janissary  looked  about  him.  Kneebreeks  could 
not  have  chosen  a  more  favourable  moment,  for  each  of  the 
guests  was  busily  engaged  in  conversation  with  another. 
There  were  too  many  important  deals  swung  by  Amal- 
gamated for  Janissary  to  be  surprised  at  messages  sent 
in  by  men  who  would  give  no  names.  Mayors,  governors, 
senators,  and  the  like,  for  instance,  were  not  likely  to  put 
such  information  in  the  hands  of  policemen. 

He  murmured  conventional  apologies  which  nobody 
heard  and  followed  Kneebreeks  to  the  hall.  The  sight  of  the 
infirm  old  grocer  irritated  him. 

"This  man  sent  the  message?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  returned  Ejieebreeks,  crestfallen  as  he  ob- 
served the  lack  of  recognition  in  the  glance  that  Janissary 
gave  Van  Tromp,  and  looking  daggers  at  the  plausible 
policeman. 

"Absurd!    Absurd!    I  won't  listen  to  it." 

He  turned  away,  but  Van  Tromp  caught  a  corner  of  his 
dress  coat.  Cunning  was  given  to  the  old  man  in  this  the 
culmination  of  his  revenge.  The  humbleness  of  a  hundred 
servile  menials  was  as  nothing  to  Van  Tromp 's  tones  as  he 
addressed  the  master  of  Amalgamated. 

"Mr.  Janissary,  sir  —  came  to  do  you  a  good  turn  as  a 
man  like  me  would  hope  to  have  the  chance  of  doing  for  one 
like  you  when  he  is  lucky  enough  — danger,  Mr.  Janissary, 
danger  —  up  there " 

He  pointed  to  the  head  of  the  staircase;  he  had  good 
reason  to  remember  the  construction  of  the  house  and  what 


BELSHAZZAR  FEASTS  261 

he  had  forgotten  had  been  supplied  by  George  le  Fay's 
"soundings"  to  which  he  had  listened  with  bated  breath. 

"A  burglar!" 

"Nonsense!    Absurd!  A  burglar  —  pouff!" 

"Listen,  listen,  Mr.  Janissary.  I  saw  him  climbing  over 
your  wall  at  the  back.  I  was  passing  Washington  Court 
the  same  as  I  does  every  night  to  git  to  my  home  and  none 
can  say  as  I  hasn't  the  right;  and  to-night  I  sees  this  man, 
not  ten  minutes  ago,  Mr.  Janissary,  a  climbing  of  your  gar- 
den wall  and  then  a  climbing  of  your  porch.  I  seen  him, 
Mr.  Janissary;  I  seen  him.  Send  these  policemen  up  to 
git  him  and  then  see  if  I  ain't  right.  After  he  dumb 
your  porch  he  got  into  them  second-floor  winders  and  he's 
up  there  somewheres  now.  Send  your  policemen  to  see 
if  he  ain't!"  . 

"  If  we  was  all  to  be  sent  away,"  put  in  the  plausible  po- 
liceman, essaying  his  luck  again,  "that  would  leave  you 
alone  with  this  man,  Mr.  Janissary,  and  while  we  was  look- 
ing for  this  here  burglar  he  might  up  and  try  to  kill  you." 

"Oh,  you  —  shut  —  up,"  growled  Bjieebreeks.  "As 
for  you,"  he 'added,  turning  to  Van  Tromp,  "are  you  sure 
you  seen  this  burglar  climbin'  that  wall?" 

Van  Tromp  nodded  energetically. 

"He  ain't  got  no  reason  to  lie  that  I  kin  see,  Mr.  Janis- 
sary," said  Kneebreeks.  "If  he  ain't  telling  the  truth,  we'll 
soon  find  out  what  he's  up  to.  Is  there  a  back  stairs 
here,  sir?" 

"Just  off  the  dining-room.  It  won't  do  any  harm  to 
look.  The  man  may  be  actuated  by  friendliness  —  and 
hope  of  reward.    If  it's  for  anything  else,  I  can  handle  him 


262  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

easily  enough,"  Janissary  finished  grimly.  "He  won't  try 
his  tricks  but  once.  As  it  is,  my  collection  of  carved  stones 
are  in  the  room  that  opens  directly  off  the  head  of  these 
stairs  —  that's  where  the  burglar  is  if  he 's  anywhere.  Go 
up  there,  Lieutenant,  and  stand  outside  the  door.  I  '11  take 
these  other  men  up  the  back  way.     You  are  all  armed.?" 

Each  of  the  three  members  of  the  constabulary  nodded, 
patting  those  portions  of  their  garments  that  concealed  a 
weapon  of  blued  steel. 

"Then,  up  with  you.  Lieutenant.  Keep  your  eye  on  this 
fellow,  Timothy,"  he  added  to  the  footman  who  stood  by 
the  door,  indicating  Van  Tromp  by  a  jerk  of  his  thumb. 
"Now  you  two  follow  me." 

He  led  the  way  past  the  palms  and  to  the  rear  hall,  ascend- 
ing the  narrow  stairs  and  switching  on  all  the  lights  on  the 
square  landing  above.  Stephen  Janissary  had  little  or  no 
fear,  and  his  only  concern  was  for  the  carved  gems  in  the 
library;  so,  disregarding  the  peril  of  entering  a  room  con- 
taining a  possibly  dangerous  law-breaker,  he  laid  his  hand 
on  the  knob  of  the  library  door  and  turned  it. 

The  door  did  not  yield  to  the  pressure  of  his  knee.  He 
stepped  back  to  where  the  prudent  police  were  standing. 
"Some  one  in  there,"  he  said,  nodding.  "Break  down 
the  door." 

The  second  policeman  again  gave  proof  of  his  imagination 
and  intelligence,  laying  a  finger  to  his  lips  for  silence. 

"No  use  breaking  in,  sir,"  he  said.  "The  man's  got  to 
get  out.  And  the  minute  he  does,  me  and  my  friend  '11  have 
him  covered.  He  won't  know  we're  here;  that  little  turn 
of  the  knob  wouldn't  be  heard." 


BELSHAZZAR  FEASTS  £63 

Janissary  nodded  coldly. 

"See  that  he  doesn't  get  away,  then,"  he  said.  "If  he 
does,  you  two  will  lose  your  jobs.    Don't  forget  that!" 

He  passed  down  stairs  again,  leaving  them  behind,  their 
weapons  in  their  hands,  in  a  full  blaze  of  light  that  would 
make  a  burglar  an  easy  mark  the  moment  he  appeared  at 
the  door. 

Janissary  crossed  back  to  the  front  entrance  and  beckoned 
to  Kneebreeks  who  stood  guard  on  the  little  balcony  at  the 
head  of  the  stairs.  The  lieutenant  came  down  half-way 
to  meet  him. 

"There's  some  one  there;  no  doubt  of  that,"  said  Jan- 
issary. "I've  got  your  two  men  at  the  back  door;  you 
stay  where  you  were.  He  can't  get  out  any  other  way 
unless  he  jumps  from  the  window,  which  is  unlikely.  I  hold 
you  responsible  for  his  capture  and  I'll  see  all  of  you  get 
the  right  sort  of  a  present,  and,  incidentally,  a  word  of 
praise  in  the  night  quarter.  Now  I  must  return  to  my  guests. 
They  need  know  nothing  of  this.  Simply  bring  me  whatever 
he  has  on  his  person  that  is  mine  and  I  '11  come  down  to  the 
police  station  later  and  make  a  charge  against  him.  This  is 
a  very  annoying  thing  to  happen  when  I  'm  giving  a  dinner." 

"Yes,  sir;  quite  so,  sir,"  agreed  Kneebreeks  staring. 
"You're  sure  he's  in  there.'*" 

"The  door's  bolted;  some  one  is  in  there,  that's  certain," 
said  Janissary  calmly.  "No  doubt  he  has  the  door  on  this 
side  bolted  also.  It  isn't  necessary  to  try  it.  As  that  red- 
faced  friend  of  yours  suggests,  the  burglar  must  come  out  at 
some  time  and  it  will  be  through  either  one  door  or  the 
other." 


264  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"That  red-faced  friend  of  mine,  sir?" 

"  One  of  the  other  policemen.  Now  get  back  to  your  post.  ** 

Stephen  Janissary  descended  the  stairs,  drew  a  twenty- 
dollar  gold  certificate  from  among  others  of  larger  and 
smaller  denominations  in  the  pocket  of  his  dress  waistcoat, 
and  handed  it  to  old  Van  Tromp,  who,  during  the  proceed- 
ings consequent  upon  his  information,  had  remained  as  one 
rooted  to  the  spot  where  first  he  had  stood;  nor  did  his 
immutability  of  limbs  and  features  relax  as  he  looked  upon 
the  donat  on. 

"Here  —  this  is  for  you,"  said  Stephen  Janissary,  with 
as  much  graciousness  as  it  was  possible  for  him  to  exhibit 
toward  one  so  lowly. 

"Not  for  me,  sir;  no,  not  for  me,"  answered  the  old  man. 
"Put  it  in  your  pocket,  Mr.  Janissary,  as  it  was  afore,  and 
keep  it  there,  for  no  such  gauds  and  baubles  is  for  one  as 
brought  you  information  with  no  hope  of  reward,  only 
wishful  for  to  see  the  wicked  punished  and  them  that  serve 
Him  exalted." 

To  Janissary  his  mumblings  were  but  the  meanderings  of 
a  religious  fanatic  whose  mind  was  unsound 

"Oh,  you  want  to  stay  and  see  the  burglar  captured;  is 
that  it?"  he  asked,  slightly  amused.  "Well,  you  can  do 
that  and  have  the  money  too.  Here,  take  it;  I  can't  waste 
any  more  time  with  you.  Timothy,  this  fellow  can  stay  until 
the  burglar  is  caught.  Possibly  his  evidence  may  be  val- 
uable to  convict  him.    Take  the  money,  man!" 

Van  Tromp  *s  fingers  closed  about  the  bill  only  for  the 
length  of  time  necessary  for  Stephen  Janissary  to  turn  his 
back  and  start  on  his  way  to  the  dining-room.    Then  it 


BELSHAZZAR  FEASTS  265 

fluttered  to  the  floor  and  lay  at  the  old  grocer's  feet.  The 
footman  at  the  door  stared  curiously  at  this  peculiar  person 
who  scorned  money;  but  he  had  little  time  to  cogitate  on  the 
matter,  for  Kneebreeks  made  another  flying  trip  down  the 
stairs  and  took  Timothy  by  the  arm. 

"That  room  up  there  —  it's  got  winders,  ain't  it?'* 

"Yes,  four  of  'em;  looking  that  way." 

Timothy  waved  his  wand  southward. 

"Well,  you  git  outside  and  watch  'em.  Here,"  he  thrust 
a  police  whistle  into  his  hand,  "  if  he  tries  to  make  his  git- 
away  through  them  windows,  you  blow  that  —  see?  And, 
say;  before  you  go  to  watching,  go  tell  them  guys  on  the 
other  side  about  what  them  whistles  means  —  see?  Go 
on,  now!    Git  a  move  on!" 

The  footman,  waiving  the  insolence  of  the  commands 
because  he  feared  his  master's  anger  should  he  refuse  to  obey 
them,  left  his  post.  Kneebreeks  returned  to  the  head  of  the 
stairs,  back  against  the  plush-covered  hand  rail  of  the  bal- 
cony, face  turned  toward  the  door  of  the  library.  His 
folded  hands  concealed  the  drooping  barrel  of  blued  steel 
that  they  held. 

The  leader  of  the  Tziganes  put  a  handkerchief  on  the 
shoulder  of  his  orange  coat  and  lifted  his  violin  to  it,  raising 
a  silver-bordered  cuff  and  laying  his  bow  across  the  instru- 
ment's strings.  His  companions  followed  him  into  the 
melody  most  beloved  for  the  moment  in  Montmartre. 

Over  the  whole  scene  brooded  the  figure  of  the  ancient 
grocer  in  antiquated  garments  —  the  first  grave  digger  in 
the  garb  of  Punchinello  —  the  grinning  death  mask  at  the 
feast,  waiting  —  for  his  time  was  close  at  hand. 


266  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

IV 

THE   SECOND    MESSENGER    SPEAKS 

Stephen  felt  his  knee  slip  forward  and  hastily  snapped  off 
the  power  from  the  brace  as  he  had  done  when  the  first  and 
second  tumblers  had  been  reached,  the  boring  of  the  three 
holes  having  covered  a  period  of  more  than  half  an  hour. 
From  the  church  near  by,  he  heard  the  four  strokes  he  knew 
to  indicate  that  the  hour  of  nine  was  half  spent.  He  sighed 
relief;  there  was  little  left  to  do,  now  that  the  third  "dog" 
had  dropped. 

He  withdrew  the  bit  from  the  last  hole  and  turned  the 
knob  of  the  safe;  it  sagged  heavily  outward.  Satisfied,  he 
removed  the  bit,  unscrewed  the  brace  into  its  sections,  took 
out  the  fuse  plugs,  and  replacing  the  various  articles  in  the 
different  compartments  of  his  belt,  took  out  his  jimmy  and 
lengthened  it  for  possible  use.  Then  he  pulled  open  the 
safe  door  all  the  way  and  flashed  the  light  of  the  watch  upon 
its  contents. 

The  strong  box  was,  of  course,  locked;  naturally,  that 
would  be  where  the  jewels  were  kept.  But  in  the  pigeon- 
holes were  many  small  ledgers,  account  books,  and  papers. 
He  began  to  sort  over  the  latter  —  an  easy  process  for  each 
was  captioned  on  the  back,  legal  fashion,  with  a  brief  of  its 
contents.  He  turned  over  deeds,  mortgages,  bills  of  sale, 
and  other  private  documents  connected  with  Stephen 
Janissary's  own  personal  business  affairs,  searching  for  the 
statements  that  Decima  so  anxiously  desired,  until  his  eye 
was  arrested  by  a  bit  of  parchment,  sere  and  yellowed,  and 


BELSHAZZAR  FEASTS  267 

indexed  in  faded  ink  —  "The  Last  Will  and  Testament  of 
Stephen  Janissary." 

Somehow,  from  an  impulse  he  could  not  resist,  he  wasted 
precious  time  to  open  it;  animated,  he  pleaded  in  extenua- 
tion, by  a  natural  curiosity  to  know  what  disposition  was 
to  be  made  of  wealth  so  enormous.  The  parchment  crackled 
as  he  spread  it  out. 

It  was  simple  enough  —  only  a  few  lines  and  dated  years 
before.  It  was  as  old  as  young  Stephen  was  days;  its  execu- 
tion a  night  in  the  winter  of  1888  when  tan  bark  was  spread 
before  the  great  house. 

"I  bequeath  my  property,  appurtenances,  chattels, 
good  will,  and  all  that  I  possess  to  my  only  son,  Stephen 
Janissary,  junior." 

It  was  written  in  Janissary's  own  hand  and  witnessed  by 
Eliason  and  a  doctor  in  attendance;  afterward  the  red  seal 
of  legal  approval  had  been  placed  upon  it  together  with 
some  conventional  words  that  notaries  use. 

Wondering  what  this  younger  Janissary  —  of  whom  he  had 
never  heard  —  might  be  like,  but  envying  him  not  in  the 
least,  Stephen  replaced  the  document,  rather  ashamed  of 
having  wasted  time  over  it,  and  resumed  his  search.  He 
had  evidently  begun  at  the  wrong  pigeon-hole;  the  papers 
seemed  to  be  filed  chronologically.  He  skipped  several 
sections  and  look  a  fresh  start  on  an  iron  compartment 
where  the  edges  of  the  documents  appeared  freer  from  dust. 

Leases,  notes  of  hand,  writs,  warrants  —  all  the  forensic 
machinery  applied  to  legal  papyrus!  Every  now  and  then 
the  brief  on  the  back  of  some  paper  would  set  Stephen's 
imagination  wandering  through  fields  of  corruption  in  high 


268  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

places.  Bills  of  sale,  notes  of  eviction,  mandamus  proceed- 
ings, bail  bonds  for  financiers  at  odds  with  the  edicts  of  the 
attorney-general,  supreme  court  findings  —  would  he  never 
come  to  the  papers  he  sought?  —  diplomas  from  universi- 
ties certifying  to  good  reasons  why  Stephen  Janissary  should 
be  an  A.B.,  a  B.S.,  or  an  M.A.,  certificates  of  membership 
in  clubs,  notifications  of  elections  to  directorships  of  com- 
panies —  everything  but  statements!  Could  Decima  have 
been  wrong? 

There  was  but  a  single  pigeon-hole  left  —  a  small  one  con- 
taining an  accoimt  book  bound  in  red  morocco  and  a  few 
bundles  of  papers  —  recent  ones,  Stephen  surmised,  for 
they  were  held  together  by  small  rubbers,  not  by  red 
tape,  and  rubber  bands  have  but  a  short  life. 

He  picked  up  the  first  bundle  and  stretched  the  band 
across  the  space  between  thumb  and  index  finger.  There 
stared  at  him  from  a  field  of  fool's-cap  words  certifying  to 
the  ability  of  Thoraas  Starkweather  to  qualify  as  a  witness 
in  the  case  of  the  murder  of  Gregory  Kingston  by  Aloysius 
McKenna,  said  Starkweather  having  been  present  in  Fo- 
garty  's  saloon  at  the  corner  of  Eighteenth  Streets  and 

Stephen's  fingers  trembled  as  he  turned  to  the  second 
paper,  of  a  different  colour  and  size  (cunning  dogs,  these!) 
and  read  the  ungrammatical  affidavit  of  Pedar  Andrevy  to 
the  identical  effect;  going  on  to  the  knowledge  of  Fenton 
McGuire  in  the  same  instance;  and  neglecting  neither 
the  testimony  of  Lemuel  Causey  nor  that  of  Buxton  G. 
Smith. 

He  smiled  happily  and  slid  the  packet  of  papers  into  the 
inside  pocket  of  his  dress-coat.    He  had  been  enabled  — 


BELSHAZZAR  FEASTS  269 

thanks  to  a  wonderful  turn  of  the  wheel  of  Fate  —  to  justify 
Decima  's  confidence  in  his  powers ;  only  a  little  later  he  would 
see  her,  give  her  these  papers,  and  allow  her  the  pleasure  of 
telephoning  Graham  that  his  triumph  was  complete.  To- 
morrow a  timid  mayor  would  turn  a  piteous  face  to  his  War- 
wick and  confess  inability  to  sign  a  franchise  which  had 
been  proven  a  rapacious  and  unscrupulous  attempt  to 
wrench  millions  from  the  city  exchequer.  For  once  Amal- 
gamated would  be  forced  to  pay  in  full;  perhaps  the 
supreme  court  would  take  action  and  shatter  Amalgam- 
ated's  hold  on  one  or  two  enterprises  in  which  the 
government  was  closely  connected. 

As  he  picked  up  his  jimmy  to  pry  open  the  strong  box, 
another  sort  of  a  smile  came  to  his  face  —  rather  the  amuse- 
ment of  a  naughty  child  —  that  he,  Stephen  Adams,  burg- 
lar, in  the  practice  of  his  nefarious  profession,  should  be 
planning  a  fight  against  the  lawless!  It  seemed  a  fit 
subject  for  a  Gilbert  or  a  Carroll  to  immortalize  in  nonsense 
rhymes. 

Inserting  the  jimmy's  thin  edge  of  chilled  steel  between 
the  iron  door  and  its  jamb,  he  levered  open  the  strong  box. 
Before  him  lay  money  of  all  descriptions  in  neat,  method- 
ical little  piles  —  eagles,  double  eagles,  silver  dollars, 
twenty,  fifty,  and  hundred-dollar  gold  certificates.  He  took 
cursory  count  of  the  actual  value  of  the  lot  —  perhaps  six 
thousand  in  all,  the  household  money  of  a  large  establish- 
ment, and,  since  it  was  there,  it  might  as  well  be  taken; 
that  is,  the  least  cumbersome.  He  picked  up  little  pack- 
ages of  himdreds  and  fifties,  dropping  them  carelessly  in  the 
loose  pockets  of  his  cravenette  which  lay  on  the  chair  beside 


270  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

him;  then,  reaching  farther  in,  he  brought  out  a  huge  sandal- 
wood box  and  jimmied  off  its  top. 

There,  on  a  tray  of  white  satin,  lay  those  treasures  he 
had  come  to  seek  —  the  jewelled  fruits  of  Aladdin's  cave; 
rubies  of  the  pigeon-blue  variety,  star  sapphires,  emeralds 
nearly  flawless,  cinnamon  diamonds.  He  removed  the 
first  tray  and  placed  it  on  the  floor;  the  jewels  in  the 
second  were,  if  one  might  conceive  it,  even  more  beautiful 
than  the  first  although  not  intrinsically  of  the  same  value  — 
topazes,  amethysts,  turquoises,  peridots,  Oriental  cat's-eyes, 
tourmalines  in  all  colours,  jaspers,  chalcedony,  jade,  sar- 
donyx, malachite  —  all  the  semi-precious  stones  carved 
with  the  infinitely  patient  cunning  of  Eastern  artificers  who 
found  their  surfaces  more  susceptible  to  art  than  those  of 
more  valuable  minerals.  Stephen,  a  true  artist,  stared 
more  admiringly  at  these  than  he  had  at  those  on  the  first 
tray.  The  third  one  was  a  tray  of  pearls  —  pearls  the  like 
of  which  even  he  had  never  seen  gathered  together;  pink 
pearls,  blue  pearls,  yellow  pearls,  rose  pearls,  strawberry 
pearls — the  Oriental,  the  Madras,  and  the  Bombay 
varieties;  fresh- water,  and  sweet- water  pearls,  button 
pearls,  twinned  pearls,  pear  and  egg  pearls,  drop  and  ball 
pearls — pearls  of  all  shapes  and  kinds,  from  all  oceans  and 
all  seas,  of  all  colours,  descriptions,  and  imaginations, 
even  down  to  the  queer  mother-of-pearl  red-ears  of  the 
Abalones  and  green-ears  of  their  twin  sisters  the  Haliotis  — 
they  were  all  here,  a  representative  from  every  tribe 
of  them. 

He  tore  himself  from  their  contemplation  reluctantly 
and  slid  a  hand  into  a  hip  pocket  for  the  chamois  bag  he  had 


BELSHAZZAR  FEASTS  271 

brought  as  a  receptacle  for  the  loot;  but  as  his  fingers  de- 
scended over  the  first  tray  to  gather  up  a  handful  of  stones 
he  paused,  ceasing  for  the  moment  to  breathe. 

The  knob  of  the  rear  door  had  been  turned  —  or  was  it 
imagination? 

The  seconds  dragged  abominably;  then  —  click!  He  had 
not  been  mistaken.    The  knob  had  been  released. 

With  an  alertness  incredible  to  those  unacquainted  with 
such  work,  he  returned  the  three  trays  to  the  sandal-wood 
box;  replaced  it  in  its  usual  position,  and  closed  the  doors  of 
strong  box  and  safe.  His  fingers  touched  the  papers;  no, 
they  should  not  be  replaced  no  matter  what  happened.  In 
that  moment  his  one  thought  was  to  be  worthy  of  Decima's 
confidence.    No  other  purpose  had  being  in  his  brain. 

Now  he  crouched  down  beside  the  rear  door,  his  ear  to  the 
key-hole.  The  sibilance  of  whispers  came  to  him  from  out- 
side. In  some  way,  then,  his  presence  within  was  known. 
He  had  no  thought  or  suspicion  of  the  police.  What  more 
natural  than  that  some  one  should  have  been  sent  up  stairs 
for  some  article  from  the  library  and,  finding  the  door  bolted 
from  within,  was  naturally  conscious  of  the  fact  that  he 
whom  that  bolted  door  shielded  was  within  for  no  purpose 
that  would  serve  to  augment  the  fortunes  of  the  house  of 
Janissary? 

The  whispering  continued;  followed  a  step  on  the  stairs; 
then  again  the  whispering.  Two  or  more  persons  were  left 
to  guard  the  entrance.  As  the  rat  entered  so  would  he 
emerge;  logical  enough.  Some  one  else  had  gone  for  assist- 
ance. He  must  get  out  before  it  came  —  before  the  police 
were  called  in  and  a  cordon  drawn  about  the  house. 


272  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

First,  he  must  make  the  getaway  secure,  then  snatch  up 
the  jewel  box,  empty  it,  and  make  a  run  for  it.  The  door 
leading  down  the  front  stairs  was  naturally  impossible. 
The  window 

He  pulled  out  the  ever-useful  wire  —  hastily  shoved  his 
dicky  into  place,  fastened  the  tab,  and  drew  on  his  overcoat. 
The  wire  he  noosed  to  throw  over  a  shutter  fastener,  and, 
holding  it  ready  in  his  hand,  threw  up  one  of  the  lower 
window  sashes  noiselessly  and  leaned  forward  to  fasten 
the  wire. 

Synchronously,  sudden  and  clear,  came  the  screech  of  a 
whistle,  once,  twice,  three  times;  and,  gazing  down,  he  saw 
a  man  scampering  over  the  grass. 

After  the  lapse  of  perhaps  a  single  second  a  heavy  body 
was  hurled  against  the  rear  door  which,  giving  under  the 
weight,  dashed  inward,  and,  spinning  around  with  a  mo- 
mentum he  was  unable  to  control,  the  second  policeman 
struck  a  heavy  table  and  a  jardiniere  smashed  on  the  floor. 
As  he  staggered  around  to  raise  a  weapon,  Stephen,  sight- 
ing him  in  the  streamer  of  light  that  came  from  the  hall, 
swung  his  fist  from  his  heel  with  the  force  of  close  upon  two 
hundred  pounds  of  hard  muscle  behind  it,  and  the  man's 
feet  slid  from  under  him  as  though  his  legs  had  been  of 
wetted  card-board.  Close  at  his  heels  came  the  first 
policeman  and,  as  swiftly  —  though  not  with  so  much 
force,  for  the  blow  was  a  glancing  one  —  Stephen's  fist 
drove  straight  for  his  chin  and  knocked  him  clear  of  the 
shattered  door  and  back  Into  the  square  hall  outside.  The 
next  moment,  Stephen  pushed  the  door  back  in  its  place 
and  shoved  against  it  the  heavy  flat  desk. 


BELSHAZZAR  FEASTS  273 

He  had  but  a  single  chance.  He  turned  down  the  velvet 
collar  to  his  coat,  and  adjusted  his  hat  high  on  his  forehead 
as  he  ran  toward  the  front  door.  Perhaps  he  could  bluff 
it  out  on  his  appearance,  delay  the  game  for  the  single  mo- 
ment necessary  for  him  to  wing  his  way  to  the  street;  ser- 
vants would  not  know;  might  see  in  him  but  one  of  the 
guests.  Better  yet,  he  would  go  without  either  hat  or  coat. 
He  tore  them  off,  running  back  to  the  safe  and  tossing  in  the 
packets  of  bills  that  had  been  in  his  pockets.  Then  with  the 
assurance  of  a  demi-god,  he  shot  back  the  bolt  of  the  front 
door  and,  unconcernedly,  stepped  out  upon  the  landing. 

He  noted  the  upraised  weapon  of  Kneebreeks  and  laughed 
pleasantly. 

"We've  got  him,"  he  said.  "He*s  back  in  there.  Go 
in  and  bring  him  out." 

He  wondered  if  the  man  could  hear  the  trip-hammer  beats 
of  his  heart  as  he  voiced  these  airy  words  with  the  manner 
that  had  won  for  him  from  an  enthusiastic  Gaul  the  title 
of  "The  Magnificent."  And,  just  as  he  had  not  in  the  excite- 
ment of  the  moment  recognized  Elneebreeks,  so  was  that 
officer  lacking  in  remembrance  of  him.  His  assurance,  his 
garb,  his  manner,  all  played  for  him.  Kneebreeks  lowered 
the  weapon  and  was  about  to  speak,  when  the  policeman 
whom  Stephen  had  knocked  clear  of  the  rear  door  threw 
open  the  one  just  closed,  and,  in  a  blaze  of  light,  revealed 
the  battle  scene  —  the  overturned  table,  the  broken  jar- 
diniere, the  scattered  silver,  and  the  senseless  body  of  the 
red-faced  policeman  who  had  gone  down,  clutching  a  cur- 
tain of  violet  and  gold. 

He  stopped,  staring. 


274  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"Where  is  he?    Where's  he  gone?" 

"Did  he  get  by  you,  you fool?"  shouted 

Kneebreeks. 

"No.  He  shoved  the  table  to  the  door  but  I  pushed  it 
over.     He  never  got  by  me. " 

"The  window?"  suggested  Stephen,  helpfully. 

"Naw,  no  winder!"  growled  the  other.  "He  couldn't 
a  slid  down  in  the  time  and  besides  there's  a  man  outside 
there  who  'd  give  the  alarm  again.  He  must  a  come  through 
this  door.  Ain't  nobuddy  come  through  this  door?"  he 
demanded  of  Kneebreeks. 

"0-only-th-this-g-gentleman,"  gasped  Kneebreeks. 

In  the  silence  that  followed  the  two  policemen  eyed  each 
other  and  Kneebreeks  raised  his  long  barrel  of  blued  steel, 
the  other  policeman  capping  his  action  by  drawing  its  mate 
from  under  his  blouse. 

Down  below  in  the  hall,  the  dinner  guests,  alarmed  by  the 
crashes  from  the  library,  had  poured  through  the  forest  of 
palms,  some  crying,  "fire,"  others  asking  wild  questions 
and  being  provided  with  explanations  equally  chaotic. 
Janissary's  voice  was  raised  above  the  tumult  calling  for 
order  and  silence. 

"Git  down  stairs,"  ordered  Kneebreeks,  peering  at  Ste- 
phen over  his  revolver  barrel,  and  reaching  a  hand  to  the 
other  for  a  pair  of  cuffs.  "Here,  put  out  your  hands." 
he  added,  as  the  jingling  chains  touched  his  fingers. 

"You're  making  a  great  mistake,"  said  Stephen. 

"Never  mind  the  mistake,  bo!  —  I  got  you  now.  Mister 
Steve  Adams  —  I  got  you  now.  Now  I  know  why  you  was 
80  intrusted  in  them  crooks;  now  I  know  why  you  knew 


BELSHAZZAR  FEASTS  275 

they  never  done  them  things.  Guess  I've  grabbed  myself 
a  bunch  of  promotion  to-night.  Mister  Steve  Adams.  Hold 
out  your  hands." 

"Put  those  things  away,  Kneebreeks,"  said  Stephen 
quietly,  but  into  his  eyes  leapt  a  malefic  flame  that  caused 
the  other  to  give  back  a  step  and  tighten  his  hold  on  the  butt 
of  his  weapon;  "put  'em  away  and  let  me  alone.  If  you 
want  me  to  go  down  to  headquarters  and  explain,  I'll  ex- 
plain all  right  —  but  put  those  things  away  as  I  tell  you, 
and  don't  try  to  bullyrag  me  or  I'll  drop  you  where  you 
stand,  gun  or  no  gun  —  understand?  Now  I  'm  going 
down  stairs.     Try  and  stop  me!" 

Raising  his  fingers  to  straighten  any  possible  dereliction 
in  the  matter  of  his  neck-tie,  and  passing  both  hands  back- 
ward over  his  smooth  head,  he  descended  the  spiral  stair- 
way as  might  an  emperor  to  greet  loving  subjects  who 
waited,  laurel  wreaths  in  hand.  He  saw  the  faces  of  his 
enemies  below  —  Vaughan,  O  'Shea,  Quesink,  Philip  Helmet, 
Arbuthnot,  Fillimore,  and  Rollins  K.  Hilman  —  Gerstein, 
too  —  Gerstein  the  insignificant  with  the  transparent  ears 
and  hang-dog  manner  who  lurked  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
crowd,  and,  towering  over  them  all,  Stephen  Janissary  —  all 
enemies  against  whom  he  was  sworn. 

And  then.  Decimal 

Decimal 

Decima,  with  a  pitiful  little  face  and  eyes  that  were 
strained  from  their  sockets;  Decima,  who,  heedless  of  her 
good  name,  pushed  through  the  crowd  and  caught  his  hands. 
From  her  eyes,  he  realized  that  she  understood  at  least  one 
of  the  reasons  that  had  brought  him  there. 


276  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

He  had  some  little  skill  at  legerdemain.  His  handker- 
chief was  within  his  sleeve,  the  black  one  which  also  served 
for  a  mask  when  necessary.  He  drew  it  forth  and  slipped 
his  hand  to  the  inside  pocket  of  his  coat  so  swiftly  that, 
unless  one's  eyes  were  abnormally  keen,  it  would  seem  he 
had  drawn  the  bit  of  silk  from  that  place  originally.  When 
it  came  out  of  his  dress-coat,  the  statements  of  the  perjured 
witnesses  were  hidden  by  it,  crumpled  into  a  hard  ball. 
As  her  raised  eyes  met  his,  he  lifted  the  handkerchief  to  his 
mouth  and  spoke  in  low  tones,  from  the  corner  of  his 
mouth,  his  lips  apparently  still. 

"Don't  bother  about  me  now.  Get  out  of  the  house  and 
'phone  John  Graham;  get  him  to  come  immediately.  Go 
and  go  quickly.     You  can  do  no  good  here!" 

"I  'm  sorry,"  he  added  aloud.  "  Sorry,  Miss  Duress,  that 
you  should  find  me  in  so  embarassing  a  position.  Thank 
you  for  your  trust  in  me." 

He  had  palmed  the  statements,  and,  as  he  slipped  the 
handkerchief  back  into  his  cuflf  with  one  hand,  the  other 
that  was  outstretched  conveyed  the  crumpled  ball  of  paper 
to  Decima,  who  grasped  it. 

"I'm  sorry  too,"  she  said,  her  ability  as  an  actress  rising 
to  the  test  as  does  every  woman's  when  she  feels  she  must 
be  worthy  of  the  confidence  placed  in  her  by  her  lover. 
"But  I'm  sure  Mr.  Janissary  will  understand.  Oh,  Mr. 
Janissary!" 

But  Kneebreeks,  who  had  been  watching  the  entire 
colloquy,  revolver  still  unsheathed,  elbowed  himself  to  her 
side  before  Janissary  had  finished  explanations  to  a  very 
stout  and  tightly  laced  wife  of  one  of  his  captains  of  industry 


BELSHAZZAR  FEASTS  277 

who  had  been  threatening  an  hysterical  outbreak.  The 
lieutenant's  eyes  were  trained  to  take  in  just  such  sleight 
of  hand  work  as  Stephen's  and,  though  he  had  nothing  but 
his  suspicions  to  go  on,  he  now  caught  Decima's  clinched 
hand,  the  fingers  of  which  were  closed  over  Stephen 's  booty. 

In  that  same  second,  Stephen  knocked  him  down.  Im- 
mediately the  confusion  began  afresh.  The  stout  lady  act- 
ually fulfilled  her  threat;  her  screams  were  augmented  by 
similar  sounds  from  some  of  her  friends,  several  of  whom 
gathered  up  their  skirts  and  ran  affrightedly  toward  the 
rear  hall.  One  of  the  orange-and-silver  Tziganes,  a  ner- 
vous little  fellow,  lost  his  nose  glasses,  tramped  on  them, 
staggered  blindly  into  the  palms,  grasping  at  a  frond  of 
one  and  clutching  it  so  tightly  that  the  brass  bowl  holding 
it  crashed  down  from  its  tabouret  to  the  floor  and  induced  the 
belief  in  the  mind  of  Mr.  Gerstein  that  the  house  was  being 
attacked  on  another  side  by  ferocious  robbers.  He  added 
his  yell  of  terror  to  the  pandemonium  into  which  the  affair 
had  now  resolved  itself. 

Stephen  himself  made  no  attempt  to  escape.  He  knew 
the  other  policeman,  three  steps  up  on  the  stairway,  had 
him  covered;  besides  Kneebreeks  had  recognized  him  and 
flight  would  only  make  matters  worse.  His  right  foot,  how- 
ever, was  on  the  lieutenant's  weapon,  which  had  been  jerked 
out  of  his  hand  by  the  fall.  The  movement  attracted  no 
attention  from  Kneebreeks,  who  was  so  stunned  by  the  blow 
that  he  had  not  regained  his  feet. 

Here  was  Decima's  chance.  Stephen  frowned  heavily 
at  her  and  slightly  jerked  his  head  toward  the  rear  of  the 
house.    Obedient,  but  tearful,  she  cast  back  a  frightened 


278  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

glance  at  him  as  she  went.  His  sigh  of  relief  was  a  pro- 
found one. 

Now  he  turned  with  smiling  eyes  to  the  policeman  on  the 
stairs. 

"Put  that  gun  away,"  he  ordered  peremptorily.  "Can't 
you  see  you're  frightening  the  ladies.  I'm  not  going  to  try 
to  get  out.  Here,  ICneebreeks,"  he  went  on,  shaking  the 
lieutenant  who  had  drawn  himself  to  a  sitting  posture  and 
was  staring  about  still  dazed;  "Kneebreeks,  I  say  —  get  up 
and  take  me  to  headquarters  if  you're  going  to." 

He  helped  the  man  to  his  feet. 

"Come  on,  man;  I'm  ready!" 

"Ready?  Ready  for  what?  Here,  take  your  foot  off 
my  gun,  you " 

The  noise  having  again  quieted.  Janissary  stopped  the 
policeman's  speech  by  also  catching  his  shoulder.  The  mas- 
ter of  the  house  was  searching  the  room  with  angry  eyes  for 
some  sign  of  a  captured  house  breaker  after  a  tumult  so 
appalling.  The  monotony  of  Stephen's  attire,  so  like  that 
of  all  the  others  about  him,  was  enough  to  prevent  Janissary 
from  taking  the  trouble  to  look  carefully  at  his  face;  he 
imagined  him,  instinctively,  one  of  his  guests.  Therefore, 
he  turned  upon  the  lieutenant  a  face  that  was  a  veritable 
mask  of  fury. 

"So  you've  let  the  burglar  escape,  have  you,  you  mutton- 
headed  incompetent?  And  with  my  jewels,  too?  Come, 
what's  happened,  man?  Are  you  frightened  out  of  your 
wits?    Come,  where 's  the  burglar?" 

The  policeman  who  had  been  standing  on  the  stairs  now 
hurriedly  ascended  them  and  disappeared  within  the  library 


BELSHAZZAR  FEASTS  279 

to  discover  just  what  the  prisoner  had  accomplished  while 
at  work. 

The  intimacy  of  Stephen  with  one  of  the  guests,  the  blow, 
and  now  the  great  man's  anger  all  served  to  befuddle 
Kneebreeks;  but  when  his  glance  took  in  Stephen's  smile, 
he  forgot  everything  except  Janissary's  injustice. 

"Where's  the  burglar, Mr.  Janissary?"  he  echoed  bitterly. 
"Ain't  you  got  eyes  that  you  can't  see  that  fella  standin' 
there?" 

He  waved  a  hand  toward  Stephen.  Janissary  looked 
puzzled.  He  saw  only  a  conventionally  dressed  young  man, 
and  began  to  fumble  for  the  thin  gold  chain  to  which  his 
eye-glasses  were  attached,  endeavouring  to  jerk  them  out 
for  a  closer  inspection  of  the  person  indicated.  His  lack 
of  enthusiasm  at  Kneebreeks 's  catch  further  enraged  the 
lieutenant,  especially  as  more  men  were  now  crowding  around 
and  all  seemed  to  consider  the  matter  more  or  less  of  a  joke 
of  which  he,  Kneebreeks,  was  the  point. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Janissary,"  he  shouted,  his  anger  getting  the 
better  of  his  fear,  "that's  the  burlgar  standin'  there  for  all 
his  fine  airs  and  dress  clothes  and  even  if  he  does  get  away 
with  the  high  and  mighty  stuff.  As  fer  your  jewels,  I  guess 
he'll  come  through  with  them  when  we  git  him  down  to  the 
office.  Say,  you,"  he  called  to  the  other  policeman  who  was 
now  descending  the  stairs,  "has  this  fella  bin  after  the  safe?  '* 

"Typical  'pete-man's'  job,"  returned  the  other  not  with- 
out admiration.  "Three  holes  bored  through  the  com- 
bination —  as  neat  a  job  as  I  ever  see.  He  must  be  an  old 
hand,  this  guy  —  a  reg'lar  pippin!" 

Kneebreeks  viewed  Stephen  in  malevolent  triumph;  but 


280  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

Stephen 's  smile  was  apparently  indelible.  He  reached  down 
to  the  floor  and  picked  up  the  lieutenant's  weapon.  Knee- 
breeks  jumped  back  affrightedly  and,  before  the  other 
policeman  could  reach  for  his  revolver  Stephen  had  him 
covered. 

He  burst  into  a  laugh  as  merry  and  whole-souled  as  any 
that  he  had  given  Uncle  Fairfax  in  answer  to  the  inevitable 
query  as  to  his  ailments. 

"What  a  lot  of  courageous  gentlemen!**  he  said  in  mirth- 
ful scorn.  "Oh,  Kneebreeks,  poor  old  Kneebreeks!  So 
I*m  a  burglar,  am  I?  Well,  if  I  were  a  burglar,  I  wouldn't 
have  much  trouble  in  getting  away  from  a  lot  of  policemen 
if  they're  all  like  you.     Poor  old  Kneebreeks!*' 

He  "broke"  the  revolver,  knocked  the  cartridges  into  the 
palm  of  his  hand,  and  extended  the  weapon  to  its 
owner. 

"It's  dangerous  when  it's  loaded,"  he  said  severely  as  one 
would  speak  to  a  careless  child.  "Here's  a  present  for  you, 
Mr.  Janissary;  memento  of  the  occasion — with  the  burglar's 
compliments  on  having  such  eflBcient  guardians  —  souvenir 
of  said  eflSciency;  have  them,  Mr.  Janissary?" 

Aghast  at  impudence  so  colossal.  Janissary  had  dallied 
with  his  eye-glasses.  Now  he  put  them  on  and  viewed 
Stephen. 

He  gave  back  a  step ! 

The  Mauradriaticl  The  boy  who  had  defeated  and  then 
insulted  him,  and  who  now  smilingly  denied  his  preeminence 
by  airy  impertinence  even  when  he  stood  convicted  as  a 
house-breaker  and  old  at  the  game.  A  low  criminal,  yet 
he  dared  flout  Stephen  Janissary.     In  his  anger  Janissary 


BELSHAZZAR  FEASTS  281 

struck  down  the  hand  and  the  cartridges  scatterea  on  the 
parqueted  floor. 

A  wave  of  sentiency  swept  over  him. 

"Vaughan,"  he  said,  turning  to  his  friend;  "Hilman, 
Arbuthnot,  Helmet  —  come  here !  —  You  remember  I  told 
you  about  that  affair  on  the  Mauradriatic  ?  Well,  this  is  the 
fellow  who  didn't  like  tainted    money,  this    one    here!" 

He  waggled  a  bony  finger  at  Stephen.  Resentment  at 
this  defeat,  this  insult  at  the  hands  of  an  unknown  had  long 
rankled  within  him.  Now  the  man  was  in  his  hands  —  most 
men  did  fall  into  his  hands  who  insulted  him;  he  made  it 
his  business  that  they  should.  His  lucky  star  had  played 
for  him  here. 

"Didn't  like  tainted  money.  Helmet!'* 

That  Janissary  should  laugh  was  sufficient  reason  for 
all  to  turn  and  listen.    The  hall  was  very  quiet  now. 

"A  good  example  of  what  these  Socialists  generally  are; 
these  wonderful  self-sacrificing  gentlemen;  these  friends 
of  the  poor.  Let  us  congratulate  the  poor  on  this  shining 
example  of  their  friends  —  card  cheat  and  burglar!  Eh, 
Hilman?" 

He  deliberately  turned  his  back  on  Stephen. 

"  Take  him  away,  officer.  I  '11  follow  you  in  a  few  moments 
and  prefer  the  charge!" 

The  smile  had  faded  from  Stephen's  face.  It  was  not 
easy  to  simulate  merriment  with  such  contempt  to  face. 
His  cheeks  flamed  scarlet,  and  his  eyes  were  dangerous  when 
Kneebreeks  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"Come  along.  Mister  Stephen  Adams!"  he  said. 

Exhausted  by  his  effort  in  reaching  the  place,  to  which 


282  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

was  added  the  strain  of  a  long  wait  upon  weak  and  weary 
old  legs  hardly  able  to  bear  his  weight.  Van  Tromp  had 
sunk  down  on  the  cushioned  window  seat  generally  occupied 
by  the  footman  and  had  succumbed  to  physical  weakness 
which  bound  his  limbs  and  leashed  his  tongue  during  the 
tremendous  excitement  of  the  few  past  moments.  Several 
times  he  had  attempted  to  rise  but  each  time  he  had  sunk 
back.  He  had  tried  to  cry  out,  but  he  could  not  summon  the 
breath  to  do  so  nor  moisten  the  crackling  lips  and  dried 
throat  of  age.  But  now  he  must  speak  or  it  would  be  too 
late;  they  were  taking  Stephen  away;  the  crowd  was  moving. 

His  effort  was  entirely  spiritual.  There  was  neither 
strength  nor  mentality  behind  it.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he 
was  walking  on  air,  that  his  voice  came  from  a  great  dis- 
tance; but  the  monosyllable  that  he  shrieked  out  in  a  high 
falsetto  centred  all  eyes  upon  him  as  he  tottered  out  of  the 
shadows  by  the  door,  a  grotesque  old  figure. 

Yet  no  one  laughed;  there  was  something  at  once  strange 
and  terrifying  about  the  old  man's  gleaming  eyes. 

"No,  no,  no,  I  say  —  nol** 

A  woman  who  was  near  him  drew  away  in  fright. 

"Stephen  Adams,  no,  no,  no!  It's  Trompey's  time  now 
and  you've  all  got  to  listen  to  him.  You've  trodden  him 
down  —  all  of  you  —  as  the  Good  Book  says  ain't  to  be 
done  under  no  circumstances,  and  now  he's  got  you  where 
he  wants  you,  for  he's  got  your  chief,  your  leader,  your 
general,  and  he'll  humble  him  like  man  was  never  humbled 
before.    You,  I  mean,  you,  Mr.  Stephen  Janissary!" 

The  ash  stick  trembled  as  he  held  it  pointing  at  his  enemy. 

"You  robbed  me  of  my  little  shop  as  I  tended  forty  year, 


^ 

^sSi 

m 

•WWI 

1^^ 

■SPS^^ 

|U^  cowY 

"  'Made 

me 

a 

PAUPER 

,  didn't 

you? 

Well, 

r 

've 

made 

your 

son  A  thief'" 

BELSHAZZAR  FEASTS  283 

Mr.  Janissary;  robbed  me  for  to  swell  pomp  and  pride  and 
because  you  hated  them  what  was  beneath  you.  For 
you  was  *Big  Steve'  and  such  as  me  was  dogs  to 
you.  You  robbed  me  and  you  robbed  others  notwith- 
standing what  the  Good  Book  said,  but  you  never 
thought  as  one  of  them  what  you  despised  could  rob 
you  too.  But  one  of  them  did,  and  that  one  was  old 
Trompey,  and  if  you'll  look  at  what  I've  got  in  my  hand 
you  '11  know  what  was  stole  from  you.  I  sent  you  the  other 
two  days  ago  so  you  'd  begin  to  remember  and  now  you  can 
have  this  too." 

The  ash  stick  rattled  as  it  fell  and  the  other  hand  was 
extended  under  Janissary 's  eyes.  It  held  just  such  another 
bit  of  silk  and  tarnished  baby  ribbon  as  the  mail  had  brought 
to  him  two  days  before.  Mechanically  —  only  subcon- 
sciously understanding  —  Janissary's  eyes  travelled  from 
it  to  the  features  of  the  younger  Stephen  who  stood 
proudly  by,  gazing  upon  Van  Tromp  half-scomfully,  half- 
pityingly. 

The  old  man  followed  Janissary 's  gaze  with  a  look  unholy 
in  its  maddened  hatred. 

"Yes;  look,  all  of  you,  at  the  thief  standin'  there  what  is 
the  living  image  of  his  father!  It's  been  a  long  time  since 
you  seen  him,  ain't  it,  Mr.  Stephen  Janissary.'*" 

As  the  old  man 's  wrinkled  face  was  thrust  forward  —  the 
face  of  an  aged  vulture  —  Janissary  shrank  away,  and  a 
moan  came  from  him;  a  moan  such  as  those  who  heard  had 
never  known  could  come  from  the  breast  of  man. 

Helpless,  an  arm  held  before  his  eyes,  he  stood  while  the 
vulture  face  was  pushed  nearer  and  lips  were  pressed  against 


284  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

his  ear.  The  silence  seemed  to  hold  in  it  some  of  the  quality 
of  death;  a  whisper  might  have  been  heard  by  all,  let  alone 
that  mad  scream  of  triumph: 

"Made  me  a  pauper,  didn't  you?    Well,  I've  made  your 
son  a  thief.'* 


CHAPTER  IX 
THE  FEAR 

SNOW  had  began  to  fall,  first  sifting  like  fine  powder 
on  black  roofs  and  chimneys;  later  filling  up  the 
yawning  excavations  of  Manhattan's  continual  rebuilding, 
packing  itself  in  compact  masses  on  the  slanting  panes  of 
studios,  and  causing  slender  flag  poles  on  hotels  and  public 
buildings  to  grow  clumsy  beards.  Where  unattractive 
fire-escapes  had  been,  there  soon  were  velvet-carpeted 
ladders  to  the  skies. 

People  had  begun  to  grow  merry  in  the  streets.  Boys 
blew  tin  horns  as  reminders  that  Christmas  was  near.  The 
holiday  turkeys  became  cold  and  firm  to  the  touch.  The 
holly  berries  in  the  market  places  glistened,  red  hearts  of 
white  stars  set  against  fields  of  green.  One  could  hardly 
find  the  mistletoe  at  all  amid  so  much  whiteness. 

Winter  weather,  Christmas  weather,  Dickens  weather; 
the  weather  to  rejoice  the  true  Norse  and  Angle,  creating 
as  it  does  the  atmosphere  making  for  that  country  of 
illusion  where  the  Yule-log  ever  burns  brightly  and  the 
Christmas-tree  never  dies.  It  did  not  appeal  to  Morgen- 
stein,  for  he  was  an  Oriental  by  nature  and  shivered  under 
his  fur  coat  even  though  the  astrakhan  collar  was  turned  up 
about  his  ears;  but  to  George  le  Fay  it  brought  subconscious 

ftss 


286  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

memories  of  old  Normandy,  or  perhaps,  of  the  streets 
of  Paris,  where,  in  another  age  he  had  crawled  along  the 
snowy  moat,  a  prudent  counsellor  to  a  foolhardy  Villon  or 
Rene  de  Montpensier  —  the  Guy  Tabary,  maybe,  of  the 
Parisian  underworld  when  Burgundians  camped  before  the 
city  gates  and  wolves  prowled  the  streets. 

He  did  not  know  why  he  had  been  summoned  to  the 
House  of  the  Dominie.  Words  had  passed  over  the  wire 
from  Axtell,  a  code  agreed  upon,  which  he  was  bound  to 
obey,  although  his  evening  game  of  chess  with  his  neighbour, 
the  proprietor  of  a  haberdashery  and  most  respectable, 
had  been  rudely  interrupted,  much  to  his  vexation.  In 
like  manner,  Morgenstein,  who  sat  each  evening  poring 
over  ancient  tomes  detailing  the  experiments  of  Raymond 
Tully,  Albertus  Magnus,  and  Friar  Bacon,  for  he  had  always 
contended  that  the  old  alchemists  knew  more  of  precious 
metals  and  stones  than  any  one  else,  had  been  incommoded 
and  was  also  making  his  way,  unwillingly,  through  the 
snowy  streets.  It  so  happened  that,  coming  in  opposite 
directions,  they  met  at  the  front  steps  of  their  rendezvous. 

"Rich,  this!"  growled  George  le  Fay.  "Got  any  idea 
what  it's  all  about,  Morgy?" 

"You're  like  the  old  dame  in  the  play  that  kept  wondering 
what  was  in  the  telegram  she  hadn't  opened,"  returned 
Morgenstein  ungraciously  as  he  fitted  a  pass  key  into  the 
front  door  lock.  George  followed,  his  thoughts  still  among 
the  manoeuvres  of  red  and  black  chessmen,  the  adventures 
of  knights,  pawns,  and  queens. 

The  bright  patch  of  orange-red,  where  the  fird  leaped 
and  gleamed  briskly 'in  the  second  floor  front,  drove  all 


THE  FEAR  287 

other  thoughts  from  the  minds  of  the  new  arrivals,  who, 
their  coats  still  upon  their  backs,  stripped  oflF  their  gloves 
and  warmed  their  hands  over  the  blaze.  Turning  their 
faces  from  it  presently,  they  observed  that  not  only  was 
Hilary  present,  but  Rag  also.  Axtell's  ferocity  disturbed 
them  not  at  all;  he  had  wasted  his  superlatives  on  small 
matters  so  that  none  remained  to  impress  his  companions 
fitly  with  a  matter  really  disastrous. 

It  was,  rather,  the  silence  of  Quackenbos  and  O'Brien 
that  alarmed  them;  for  Hilary  was  gazing  sombrely  before 
him,  seeing  nothing,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  pupils  of 
his  eyes  which  had  shrunk  to  pin  points  showed  that  he  had 
been  indulging  freely  in  the  Oriental  pleasure  that  usually 
banished  pessimism.  For  pallor  and  fixity,  O'Brien's  face 
equalled  that  of  the  Carrara  statue  of  "  Comedy  and  Trag- 
edy, "  flanking  the  ormolu  clock  behind  them. 

"We're  done,  dear  old  chaps,"  said  Hilary,  rousing 
himself  and  speaking  in  a  frightened  whisper. 

"Yes,  and  you,  all  of  you,  taking  the  old  imbecile's  part 
against  me,"  raged  Axtell,  the  glow  of  the  fire  upon  his 
face  giving  it  the  only  touch  of  Satanic  diablerie  that  it 
did  not  itself  supply.  "I  knew  his  black  old  heart;  I  knew 
he  was  a  Judas,  a  dog  that  bit  the  hand  that  fed  it;  a  crazy, 
traitorous  old  fool!  And  we  let  him  sit  there  while  we  dis- 
cussed our  plans,  thinking  he  didn't  understand.  I 
knew  he  was  shamming.  I  didn't  want  him  here.  But 
you  all  said  'poor  Trompey. '  " 

His  voice  rose  to  a  sneering  shriek: 

"'Poor  old  Trompey'  indeed.  You  thought,  because  I 
was  chained  to  my  chair  and  had  lost  the  use  of  my  limbs. 


288  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

that  I'd  lost  my  brains  too,  didn't  you?  Me,  who  planned 
this  whole  organization;  me,  the  brains  of  the  lot  of  you, 
and  you  wouldn't  listen;  me,  who  trained  that  boy  from  the 
first  day  I  got  him,  trained  him  to  be  the  greatest  thief  in 
the  world  and  trained  him  so  he  stole  like  other  men  pray. 
And  yet  I  didn't  know  anything,  eh?  'Poor  old  Trompey!* 
Oh,  you  insane  fools!  Well,  now  you'll  pay  for  it;  you'll 
all  go  up  the  river  and  break  stones  and  pick  oakum  for 
your  'poor  old  Trompey.'  They  can't  do  anything  to 
me.  I'm  paralyzed.  They  wouldn't  dare  imprison  me; 
but  you,  you  chumps,  you  thick  heads,  you  snivelling, 
drivelling  fools,  you'll  wear  striped  suits  and  wield  pickaxes 
and  answer  to  a  number,  you  will.     Bah!" 

George  le  Fay  felt  his  stomach;  a  sickening  pain  was 
there;  a  nauseous  something  was  in  his  mouth.  He  sat 
down  heavily.  When  he  had  come  in,  he  was  wondering 
whether  he  should  have  checkmated  and  —  with  a  groan, 
he  dismissed  the  game  of  chess  from  his  mind.  He  would 
never  finish  it. 

Dully,  Morgenstein  remembered  that  he  had  been  sitting 
with  stockinged  feet  against  the  gilded  radiator  in  his 
apartment  hotel.  The  copy  of  Friar  Bacon's  "Excelsis" 
he  had  left  open  on  the  little  table  near  by.  The  steam 
heat  would  loosen  its  binding  if  it  were  there  too  long,  and 
he  had  paid  thirty-seven  dollars  and  fifty  cents  for  the  book 
at  auction.  He  wondered  if  the  central  oflice  men  would 
allow  him  a  few  moments  to  go  back,  put  it  in  its  oilskin 
cover  and  replace  it  in  his  trunk. 

"Van  Tromp  went  to  Janissary's  taking  one  of  Stevey's 
baby  shoes  with  him,"  further  explained  Hilary  in  a  dull 


THE  FEAR  289 

voice.  "  We  can  only  imagine  that  he  wants  to  turn  Stephen 
up  as  a  burglar  and  humiliate  Janissary.  He's  evidently 
planned  the  whole  thing  out  since  he  persuaded  Stephen  to 
burglarize  the  place.  As  Axtell  says,  we  didn't  give  him 
credit  for  enough  sense,  dear  old  chaps.  So,  I  rather  fancy 
we're  done." 

"Yes,  good  and  brown,"  echoed  Morgenstein.  "Good 
and  brown." 

George  le  Fay  started  to  his  feet. 

"Van  Tromp  *11  have  to  turn  himself  up  if  he  turns 
Stephen;  he  stole  the  boy  and  he's  the  most  to  blame.  He's 
got  nothin'  on  me;  I  never  stole  a  dollar  in  my  life  —  not  a 
dollar.  They  can't  take  me  away  from  my  home  and  wife 
and  children.  I'm  a  respectable  citizen.  I  pay  my  taxes 
regular  and  I  lived  in  one  place  for  fifteen  years.  My  lodge 
'ull  see  I  don't  go  to  jail  for  what  somebody  else  has  done. 
I  never  made  a  single  'touch',  not  one,  not  one!" 

"Be  still,  you  rat!"  said  Morgenstein  coldly,  pushing 
Le  Fay  back  in  his  chair  and  bending  over  him.  His  Orien- 
tal eyes  burned  wickedly  on  either  side  of  his  hawk's  nose, 
and  his  lean  hand  reached  out  to  take  George  by  the  throat 
and  shake  him. 

"You're  the  kind  that  turns  state's  evidence,  ain't  you? 
Now  listen  to  me!  If  you  ever  'peep'  about  one  of  us 
I'll  cut  your  heart  out  —  un 'stand?  They  can't  send  me 
away  for  more  than  seven  years,  and  when  I  come  out  the 
world  won't  be  no  bigger'n  Times  Square  so  far  as  your 
hidin'  away  from  me;  see?" 

With  Morgenstein's  contemptuous  shove,  Le  Fay's  head 
struck  the  back  of  his  chair  heavily. 


AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"Jest  think  of  what  I'm  telHn'  you  now  when  th'  district 
attorney  starts  promisin'  you  immunity  if  you  'stool.' 
Jest  remember  it's  better  f 'r  you  to  serve  seven  years  than 
to  croak  after  seven  years!     Better  not  forgit!" 

A  dry  sob  escaped  from  Rag  O'Brien;  he  clasped  his  head 
with  his  hands. 

"What!    You  too.'*"  sneered  Morgenstein. 

"That's  right,  Morgy,"  shouted  Axtell  in  evil  glee. 
"Choke  'em,  beat  'em,  kick  'em,  strangle  'em.  You're 
the  only  man  of  the  lot  if  you  are  a  Jew!" 

Rag  leaped  up,  threatening  the  paralytic. 

"Shet  up;  shet  up,  or  I'll  stick  you  in  the  fire  and  burn 
yuh  to  death  like  yuh  oughta  bin  burned  years  ago." 

He  turned,  passionately  protesting  to  the  others. 

"You're  all  thinkin'  of  yer  own  skins;  I'm  thinkin*  of 
Stevey.  I  kin  stand  goin'  to  'stir*;  I'm  a  tough  old  crab. 
But  it  'uU  break  his  heart  to  go  there  jest  as  it's  breakin' 
mine  to  think  of  him  goin'.  Why  I'll  serve  ten  years  for 
every  one  he'll  have  to  do  if  I  can.  You  keep  yer  tongue 
for  them  as  needs  it,  you  kike ! "  he  finished,  turning  suddenly 
to  Morgenstein.     "And " 

He  observed  that  the  Jew's  eyes  swivelled  away  from 
him  and  that  his  ears  twitched.  Some  one  in  the  street  had 
touched  the  bell  button  and  the  echoes  of  the  tinkling 
buzz  came  up  to  them  through  the  dark  and  silent  hall  ways. 

"The  coppers,"  moaned  George  le  Fay  and  covered  his  eyes. 

"We've  got  a  light  in  the  room  —  damn  the  luck!"  said 
Morgenstein.  "We  might  'uve  known  they'd  come  here 
direct!  We  are  a  pack  of  fools,  Axtell,  and  we  deserve  to 
pay  for  our  folly." 


THE  FEAR  291 

The  bell  again  reminded  them  of  the  presence  of  would-be 
visitors  outside. 

"No  use  tryin'  to  make  a  getaway,"  said  Rag.  "Not 
with  a  blindin'  snow  storm  outside  and  the  ground  thick 
with  it.  They've  probably  sent  a  *rap'  to  all  the  ferries 
and  tunnel  stations  anyhow." 

"If  we're  done,"  sighed  Hilary,  straightening  up  and 
feeling  for  his  cigarette  case,  "why,  then,  dear  old  chaps, 
we  may  as  well  'swank.'  Rag,  you're  in  very  proper  livery, 
old  chap.  Let's  go  through  it  with  a  bit  of  'side.'  Will 
you  answer  the  bally  beU?" 

"No,  no,"  screamed  George  le  Fay.  **No,  no;  give  me  a 
chance  to  get  away  first  —  give  me  a  chance!  I've  got  a 
wife  and  kids  —  I  know  a  place  where  we  can  hide.  We'll 
fight  th'  coppers,  but  don't  let  them  take  us  to  jail,  no, 
no,  no!" 

He  drew  a  long  .38  from  the  side  pocket  of  his  heavy 
overcoat.  Morgenstein  stepped  behind  him,  locked  his 
arm,  and  plucked  the  weapon  from  nerveless  fingers. 

"We've  got  jest  one  chance,"  said  the  Jew,  unloading 
the  revolver,  "and  we  ain't  goin'  to  have  you  'crab'  it. 
The  bunch  of  us  oughta  be  able  to  swear  Trompey  into 
Matteawan  if  we  stand  'pat';  but  if  we  start  tryin'  to  unload 
hardware  and  seein*  coppers  through  th'  smoke,  we're 
gone." 

He  opened  a  drawer  in  the  table  and  threw  the  weapon 
into  it;  then  pushing  Le  Fay  back  into  his  chair  for  the 
second  time,  regarded  him  with  dangerous  eyes. 

"You  try  to  make  any  gitaways  and  I'll  drop  you  where 
you  stand,"  he  said.     Le  Fay  shrank  back,  huddling  himself 


292  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

into  Trompey*s  chair,  as  seemingly  infirm  as  the  old  man 
had  been. 

The  bell  had  continued  to  ring  by  fits  and  starts.  Mor- 
genstein  nodded  to  Rag,  who,  drawing  a  deep  breath, 
fastened  the  single  button  of  his  black  morning  coat,  opened 
the  door,  and  left  the  room. 

The  echo  of  every  step  that  Rag  took  down  the  uncarpeted 
stairs  seemed  to  consume  moments  to  the  breathless 
men  above.  His  journey  was  interminable;  even  after 
they  heard  the  door  open,  and  seemed,  so  wrapt  were  they 
in  his  movements,  to  feel  the  rush  of  drifting  snow  and  cold 
air  on  their  own  faces,  a  long  time  appeared  to  pass  before 
they  distinguished  a  woman's  voice.  They  had  not  recovered 
from  their  bewilderment  before  the  hall  ways  were  ablaze 
with  light,  for  Rag  had  snapped  on  the  switch  below.  Then 
they  heard  him  talking  eagerly.  The  fears  of  months  were 
crowded  into  the  period  of  waiting,  for  their  liberty  was 
at  stake;  but,  in  actual  duration,  less  than  five  minutes 
had  elapsed  since  Rag's  journey  down  stairs  before  he 
bounded  jubilantly  up  the  stairs,  taking  two  steps  at  a 
time,  and  burst  into  the  room,  slamming  the  door  behind 
him. 

"It's  Miss  Duress,"  he  shouted,  running  his  words  to- 
gether, so  much  had  he  to  say  and  so  eager  was  he  to  say 
it  in  the  shortest  possible  time.  "I've  put  her  in  the 
front  parlour  and  lighted  the  fire  there.  She's  waiting  for 
Steve.  She  went  to  his  apartment  but  he  wasn't  there; 
so  she  came  here  because  th'  clerk  at  Canary's  give  this  as 
th'  address  of  his  uncle  —  you,  Hilary!" 

They  wanted  to  ask  him  so  many  questions  that  they  could 


THE  FEAR  29S 

not  decide  which  to  ask  first;  consequently  he  continued 
uninterrupted. 

"Steve*s  free;  they  ain't  goin'  to  do  anythin*  to  him. 
Ain't  that  greai!    Ain't  it?    Ain't  it?" 

"He's  /rce,"  echoed  Morgenstein.  "Then  Van  Tromp 
didn't " 

"What  about  us?  We  ain't  goin'  to  be  th'  *fall  guys* 
fer  Steve,"  shouted  Le  Fay.  "If  we've  got  to  do  time,  so 
has  he!" 

" Oh,  shet  up !  Nobuddy  ain't  goin'  to  do  no  time,  sucker! 
This  Miss  Duress  she  wanted  some  papers  outa  Janissary's 
safe  and  she  musta  told  Steve  so  this  afternoon  though 
she  didn't  see  how  she  had  a  dog's  chance  a-gittin'  them. 
Some  kind  of  a  franchise  steal  was  on  and  th'  reformers 
needed  them  papers  to  keep  th'  mayor  from  signing  some 
bill.  Well,  Van  Tromp  done  as  we  expected.  He  turned 
Stevey  up  while  Steve  was  workin'  on  th'  *pete,'  and  th' 
•dicks'  rushed  in  and  glomed  him;  but  Steve  dropped  one 
of  them  and  pushed  th'  others  aside  and  walked  down  th' 
steps,  cool's  you  please.  Well  this  Miss  Duress  was  a  guest 
at  that  there  blow-out  as  Janissary  was  givin*  and  when  she 
hears  them  yellin'  burglar  and  sees  Steve  a-comin'  down 
th'  stairs,  she  thinks  he  kicked  in  th'  front  fer  her  sake.  So 
when  he  slipped  her  these  docymints  he  copped  and  tells 
her  to  make  a  gitaway  with  them,  she  runs  to  th'  alderman 
what's  fightin'  this  here  franchise  bill  and  comes  back  to 
Janissary's  joint  with  him  afore  th'  'dicks'  can  take  Steve 
down  t'  th'  *ofl5ce.*  Janissary,  meanwhile,  gits  told  by  old 
Trompey  that  Stevey's  his  son  and  he  jest  sits  in  a  daze 
and  don't  seem  to  see  nor  hear  nothin';  and  th'  butler  leads 


294  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

him  oflf  to  his  room.  But  when  Miss  Duress  come  tearin' 
back  in  her  motor  with  th'  alderman,  she  jest  runs  right  up 
to  O'Shea,  th'  president  of  th'  street  railways  and  th'  mayor 
himself  —  both  of  which  was  present  at  this  here  dinner  — 
and  she  takes  them  aside  and  she  and  th'  alderman  talk  to 
them.  She  says  as  how  Steve  wasn't  tuh  blame  fer  makin' 
th'  touch  'cause  she'd  'conned  him  into  it  —  not  knowin'  of 
course  that  he'd  take  sich  a  desprit  chance.  But,  now  that 
he  had  done  it  and  they  had  th'  statements  he'd  nailed 
(which  proved  th'  franchise  was  a  steal  or  somethin'),  they'd 
publish  th'  whole  story  in  th'  papers  less'n  they  let  Steve 
take  a  walk  and  let  that  be  th'  blow-off!  Well,  it  must'a' 
thrown  a  scare  into  them  all  right;  fer  O'Shea  calls  th' 
*dick'  over  (they  was  only  one  'dick'  th'  others  was  harness 
bulls)  and  'mitts'  him  five  century  notes  and  says:  'Knee- 
breeks,  f  erget  all  about  this  or  you  to  "the  goats  I " '  And  he 
also  slips  th'  two  harness  bulls  a  century  apiece  and  tells 
them  th'  same.  Then  Mr.  Janissary's  old  sekkertary  goes 
up  and  looks  in  th'  safe  and  finds  th'  carved  jewels  ain't 
bin  stole  at  all.  So  they're  nothin'  to  it  but  tuh  turn  Steve 
loose.  So  Stevey  takes  a  'quiet  sneak'  while  this  here  Miss 
Duress  is  a-talkin'  to  th'  mayor  about  not  signing  th' 
franchise,  and  he  ain't  at  Canary's,  and  she's  come  down 
here  tuh  find  him,  for  she's  scared  he  might  do  somethin' 
desprit  'count  of  the  disgrace  of  bein'  caught  with  the  goods! 
See?'* 

"What!  He  didn't  get  the  'stuff'?"  asked  George  le 
Fay  in  angry  tones.  "After  me  takin'  all  that  trouble 
to  get  'soundings,'  he  jest  uses  them  to  cop  some  lousy 
papers  for  a  dame?     Well,  I'll  be " 


THE  FEAR  295 

"Oh,  shet  up,  or  I'll  crown  you  with  a  cuspidor,"  retorted 
Rag  indignantly.  "You  ain't  got  no  more  gratitude  than 
a  ground-hog." 

"What  about  that  old  imbecile.  Van  Tromp?"  asked 
Axtell  viciously.  "Did  Janissary  knock  him  down  and  tread 
on  him,?  He's  a  big  man!  You'd  think  he'd  kill  the  old 
fool.     Did  he?" 

Rag  sighed  and  looked  at  the  gathering  resignedly. 

"Well,  you're  a  fine  lot  of  gentlemen!"  he  said.  "No 
thanks  for  th'  little  lady  savin'  th'  bunch  of  you  from  th' 
*hoose-gow';  not  a  peep  of  gladness  for  Stevey  gittin'  off 
clean;  nothin'  but  selfishness!  I  wasn't  botherin'  about 
Trompey  nor  nobody  but  Steve.  If  you  wanta  know  any- 
thin'  else,  I'll  ask  th'  young  lady  tuh  come  up.  But,  mind ! 
—  nix  on  th'  rough  stuff.  You  keep  your  face  closed, 
George,  and  you  too,  Morgy.  Let  Axtell  and  Hilary  do 
th'  talkin' :  I  'ain't  gunna  have  her  think  Stevey's  tied  up 
with  a  bunch  of  lobby-gows.  .  .  .  With  me  it's  dif 'runt. 
I'm  jest  a  servant  to  her,  fer  she's  a  reg'lar  lady,  as  classy 
as  they  make  'em,  and  she  ain't  got  no  idea  that  Steve  ever 
stole  a  dollar.  That's  what  makes  this  safe  breakin'  so 
strong  with  her;  she  thinks  he  took  all  them  chances  jest 
fer  her  sake." 

"Well  so  he  did,"  growled  George  le  Fay.  "And 
what's  more  he  made  me  take  chances,  too.  It  ain't  fair; 
I've  got  no  interest  in  th'  dame!" 

"You  call  her  a  'dame'  again,  and  I'll  hang  one  on  you 
right  from  my  heel,  un'stand?"  returned  Rag  threateningly, 
and  turned  to  the  others: 

"  If  you  wanta  ask  her  any  questions,  you'd  better  promise 


296  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

to  behave,  'cause  otherwise  I  ain't  goin'  to  bring  her  —  not 
an  inch!" 

"I  ain't  gunna  talk,"  promised  Morgenstein,  "and  if 
George  does,  I'll  hang  one  on  him  before  you  do  after  she 
goes.     Bring  her  up.  Rag!" 

"Janissary  and  Duress,"  sneered  Axtell  from  the  fireplace 
as  Rag  went  out.  "  I've  heard  Big  Steve  intended  the  young 
ones  to  be  spliced  up  when  they  came  of  age.  Well,"  he 
added  with  a  horrible  semblance  of  mirth,  "it  looks  like 
he's  got  his  wish.  His  own  son  steals  from  him  and  his 
partner's  daughter  helps  him.  How  do  you  do,  my  dear 
Miss  Duress,"  he  said,  his  tone  again  changing  to  one  that 
those  about  him  had  not  heard  for  years  —  a  courtly,  deferen- 
tial one  that  he  had  been  taught  somewhere  back  in  the 
distant  past  was  proper  to  use  to  women  who  commanded 
respect.  "I  trust  that  you  will  pardon  my  not  rising  — 
unfortunately,  I  am  a  cripple.  Miss  Duress;  I  haven't  left 
my  chair  for  fifteen  years." 

"Oh,  I  am  sorry,"  said  Decima  impulsively,  coming  across 
the  room  and  taking  his  palsied  hand.  "  Mr.  Adams  never 
told  me  his  uncle  was  —  was " 

"If  you  will  allow  me, "said  Hilary,  smiling,  as  he  touched 
the  sleeves  of  her  coat,  indicating  that  he  would  help  her 
remove  it,  "I  am  Stephen's  uncle  —  Mr.  Quackenbos. 
This,"  he  said,  presenting  the  man  by  the  fire,  "is  my  friend 
and  partner,  Mr.  Axtell.  Sit  here,  if  you  please.  Miss 
Duress.  No  doubt  Stephen  will  be  here  presently.  He 
always  comes  to  his  old  uncle  when  he's  in  trouble." 

He  had  placed  for  her  Van  Tromp's  chair,  from  which 
he  had  previously  ejected  the  injured  George,  who  now 


THE  FEAR  297 

stood  glowering  from  the  shadows  at  the  back  of  the  room 
on  the  girl  who  he  considered  had  cheated  him  out  of  his 
rightful  due.  She  still  wore  the  gown  of  yellow  satin  pail- 
letted  with  silver,  cut  in  the  fashion  of  mediaeval  times,  which 
her  dark  beauty  carried  royally.  Hilary,  distinguished  in 
appearance,  with  hair  slightly  grayed,  and  wearing  a  dinner 
jacket  from  Bond  Street,  seemed  a  fitting  concomitant. 
He  placed  her  coat  and  muff  of  sables  on  a  divan  near  the 
door,  and  drew  up  a  chair  between  her  and  Axtell. 

"I  have  one  or  two  questions  I  should  like  to  ask  you. 
Miss  Duress,"  said  Axtell,  before  Hilary  sat  down. 

"Yes,  and  I  have  one  or  two  I  should  like  to  ask  you 
and  Stephen's  uncle,  too,"  she  replied.  "I'll  ask  mine 
first  if  you  don't  mind!  That  horrible  old  man  said  that 
Stephen  was  Mr.  Janissary's  son.  And  Mr.  Janissary  did 
have  a  son  stolen  from  him  a  long  time  ago.  But  Stephen 
isn't  that  son,  is  he?  Because,  if  he  is,  how  can  you  be  his 
uncle.?" 

"I'm  not  really  his  uncle,  dear  lady,"  returned  Hilary, 
a  pathetic  note  creeping  into  his  voice.  "I  was  a  lonely 
man  and  I  adopted  Stephen.  He  attracted  me  when  I  used 
to  go  to  the  comer  grocery.  The  old  grocer  said  Stephen 
was  his  son,  but  he  allowed  me  to  have  him  for  a  certain 
consideration.  After  that  the  grocer  failed  and  since  then 
he  had  been  living  here  with  us  —  a  poor  half-witted  fellow 
named  Van  Tromp." 

"That  was  the  man,  that  was  the  one  that  Mr.  Eliason 
took  away  to  question  after  Mr.  Janissary  was  helped  up 
to  his  bedroom.  So  then  there  is  a  chance  that  Stephen 
may  be  Mr.  Janissary's  son?" 


298  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"  I  know  nothing  except  that  this  Van  Tromp  said  Stephen 
was  his  son.  I  naturally  didn't  want  Stephen  to  know  his 
father  as  a  drunken,  infirm,  crack-brained  fellow,  so  I  told 
him  his  father  was  an  English  officer  who  died  in  India. 
If  Van  Tromp  stole  him  from  Mr.  Janissary  —  why  he 
should  know!     Where  is  Stephen?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  answered,  her  tone  agitated. 
"Here  I've  been  sitting,  forgetting  that  he  may  be 
doing  something  desperate  because  I  led  him  into  that 
—  that  —  burglary.  Oh,  believe  me,  sir,"  she  said,  turning 
to  Hilary,  "if  I'd  had  the  slightest  idea  that  he  would  do 
anything  so  rash  as  that  I  would  never  have  mentioned 
those  statements  in  Mr.  Janissary's  safe.  Of  course,  it 
was  glorious  for  him  to  do  it  and  now  the  franchise  won't 
be  signed  —  the  mayor  has  promised  that !  But  it  is  too 
terrible  to  think  that  a  person  like  Stephen  whom  everybody 
respects  and  loves  and  whom  people  call  'Stephen  the  Magni- 
ficent' should  lay  himself  open  to  trial  as  a  thief.  Not 
that  I  mean  he  was;  no,  no;  don't  think  that!  I'm  only 
giving  you  the  world's  opinion.  But,  after  all,  we  care 
what  the  meanest  people  think  of  us,  don't  we?  It's  because 
they  are  so  mean  that  we  resent  their  bad  opinions;  to 
think  we  should  give  them  a  chance  to  despise  us!  Can 
you  ever  forgive  me  for  putting  Stephen  in  such  a  terrible 
position,  Mr.  Quackenbos?" 

Hilary  was  about  to  answer,  but  a  tap  on  the  shoulder 
from  Rag,  the  action  coupled  with  a  warning  finger  laid 
against  the  lip,  kept  him  in  silence  during  which  he  heard 
a  slow  step  on  the  stair  —  the  step  of  one  who  drags  himself 
onward  with  no  particular  purpose  in  view  save  movement. 


THE  FEAR  299 

The  step  well  fitted  the  look  of  the  man  who  entered. 
Stephen's  eyes  lacked  lustre,  his  shoulders  seemed  incapable 
—  broad  as  they  were  —  of  bearing  even  the  light  coat  that 
had  sat  so  lightly  upon  them  but  a  few  hours  ago.  His 
hat  was  pulled  far  down  over  his  face  as  though  he  feared 
to  meet  the  gaze  of  his  fellow  men.  As  he  sank  into  the 
nearest  chair,  they  noted  that  his  hands  were  red  and  blue 
with  cold,  for  he  had  forgotten  to  put  on  his  gloves. 

He  did  not  see  that  Decima  was  among  them,  for  the 
high  back  of  the  grandfather's  chair  hid  her  from  sight. 
Rag  approached  him  solicitously,  but  said  nothing,  only 
taking  Stephen's  cold  hands  between  his  warmer  ones, 
rubbing  them  tenderly. 

Somehow  no  one  seemed  inclined  to  speak.  It  silences 
even  the  most  cynical  to  see  one  utterly  crushed  in  spirit. 
Stephen  had  been  light-hearted  enough  when  there  was 
danger  to  face;  but  now,  believing  that  the  end  had  come 
between  him  and  Decima,  all  the  joy  seemed  gone  out  of 
life  forever.  Young  as  he  was,  he  had  few  illusions  concern- 
ing women.  His  companions  had  dinned  into  him  from 
early  childhood  their  lack  of  brains,  of  honour,  of  heart; 
their  near  kinship  to  the  animal  that  is  withheld  from  its 
desires  by  none  of  the  man-made  virtues.  He  knew,  there- 
fore, that  he  had  won  for  his  own,  one  beyond  price  —  a 
woman  in  a  million;  one  to  whom  was  given  all  the  things 
that  most  of  her  sex  lacked;  and  who  would  go  to  her  death 
with  a  smile  on  her  lips  for  his  sake. 

So  he  had  tramped  the  streets  while  the  snow  froze 
beneath  him,  hardly  knowing  he  fought  his  way  through  a 
storm;    lacking    knowledge    even  of  the  paths  he  took. 


300  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

until,  by  the  instinct  that  brings  a  dog  to  its  kennel  or  a 
bird  to  its  nest,  he  had  found  himself  mechanically  fitting 
a  key  into  the  lock  of  the  home  of  his  childhood,  and  ascend- 
ing the  stairs  to  the  fire  before  which  as  a  boy  he  had  sat 
to  puzzle  and  dream  over  the  injustice  of  a  world  toward 
those  who  sought  to  save  it. 

The  glow  that  came  with  the  pressure  of  O'Brien's  hands 
against  his  brought  him  out  of  his  black  broodings.  His 
eyes  were  wistful  as  those  of  a  child,  as  he  looked  down  at 
the  man  who  knelt  at  his  feet.  The  pressure  of  the  hands 
was  his  this  time,  and  tears  started  from  the  corners  of  his 
eyes,  the  tears  that  come  from  others'  kindness  when  one 
is  sad. 

"You  were  right,  Ragsey,"  he  said.  "I  shouldn't  have 
gone  to-night.  No,  no;  I  didn't  mean  that!  I'm  glad  I 
went,  Ragsey;  but  one  can't  always  be  unselfish  even  if 
one  does  try.     And  I  do  try,  don't  I,  Rag?  " 

"Try?"  returned  the  other  in  a  thick  voice  which  he 
strove  to  make  fierce  to  disguise  his  emotion.  "Try? 
Naw,  you  don't  try,  Steve!  You  never  thought  of  yerself 
in  yer  life.  If  yuh  had,  yuh  might'a'  bin  somethin'  instead 
a  jest  Dutchin'  yer  book  fer  a  lot  of  no  good,  ungrateful 
rats  that  don't  care  whether  yuh  live  or  die  s'  long 's  they  get 
their'n.  But  yuh  ain't  a  goin'  tuh  do  it  no  more,  Steve. 
No,  sirl     .     .     .     Miss  Duress,  talk  tuh  him,  won't  yuh?" 

Looking  up  for  the  first  time,  Stephen  realized  that  all 
the  members  of  the  company  were  present,  and  that 
Decima  was  advancing  toward  him  from  the  fire.  He 
leaped  to  his  feet,  dazed,  and  catching  her  hands,  bent 
his  head  over  them. 


THE  FEAR  301 

"Oh,  Stephen,  not  there,  not  there,"  she  said,  her  head 
bent  too.  "  Stephen,  *  Stephen  the  Magnificent,'  oh,  Stephen, 
I  love  you,  I  love  you.     My  Stephen  —  mine" 

Her  arms  stole  about  his  neck.  Hilary  turned  his  back; 
Rag,  Morgenstein,  even  George  le  Fay,  sensible  of  the 
deHcacy  of  the  situation,  realizing  what  it  meant  for  this 
gently  bred  girl  to  forget  the  presence  of  others,  affected 
to  be  interested  elsewhere.  Only  old  Axtell  sat,  smiling 
in  sinister  fashion,  cruelly  cynical;  for  there  are  some  men 
without  hearts  to  be  touched,  and  who,  if  there  be  a  here- 
after, die  with  the  death  of  their  bodies;  and  Axtell  was 
such  a  one! 

"Stephen,  Stephen!  You  are  wonderful,  wonderful! 
I  couldn't  have  believed  there  was  such  a  man  on  earth, 
much  less  think  he  would  ever  be  mine.  Stephen,  to-night 
when  I  thought  you  might  do  something  to  yourself,  I  nearly 
died.  And  now  I've  got  you,  I  want  to  watch  over  you 
all  the  time.  Stephen,  I  want  you!  I  want  you!  Must 
we  wait  any  longer,  my  dearest!" 

He  disengaged  her  hands  and  sat  down  again,  his  fingers 
strained  as  they  locked  about  his  forehead. 

"Decima,  don't;  don't,  dear!  Your  man  is  a  dream 
man  —  not  mel    You  must  know;  you  should  know!" 

He  looked  up,  steadying  his  gaze  with  an  effort. 

"Decima,  I'm  a  thief!  I  didn't  go  to  Janissary's  house 
just  to  get  those  statements,  as  you  think.  I  had  planned 
to  steal  his  jewels  before  you  told  me  about  the  statements. 
I've  been  stealing  for  eight  years.  The  Willette,  Vaughan, 
Gerstein,  Youngston  robberies  —  every  one  was  mine!  I'm 
just  a  conmion  thief!" 


302  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"It's  a  damn  lie,  Steve!" 

Rag  strode  between  Stephen  and  Decima. 

"A  common  thief  don't  send  boys  to  college  and  'prentice 
them  to  trades!  He  don't  pay  poor  people's  hospital 
bills  and  give  money  to  foundlin'  schools  and  set'l'm'nt 
houses.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  one  of  them  givin'  a  thousand 
people  a  Thanksgivin'  dinner,  or  havin'  a  Chris'mus  party 
fer  th'  servants'  kids  in  his  hotel?  Don't  let  him  hand 
you  no  talk  like  that.  Miss  Duress.  I  suppose  you  gotta 
know  he's  broke  into  houses  and  took  money  and  sparklers 
—  wouldn't  be  square  for  him  notta  tell  you  —  but  every 
time  he  took  a  dime,  we  had  tuh  hold  up  our  right  arms 
and  swear  th'  guy  he  was  gunna  nick  had  stole  from  th' 
poor.  Common  thief,  hey?  Common  thief?  Well,  if 
you're  a  common  thief,  Steve,  then  I  pray  tuh  God  there 
wouldn't  be  nuthin'  but  thieves  in  th'  world!" 

Decima  covered  her  eyes.  The  troubled  tones  of  Hilary 
supplemented  O'Brien's  fiery  peroration. 

"O'Brien  is  crude,  my  dear  young  lady,  very  crude; 
but,  in  a  way,  he's  right;  yes,  he's  right.  You  see,  we  — 
well  we,  to  an  extent,  have  taken  the  law  into  our  own 
hands.  Purely  philanthropic,  however,  my  dear  young 
lady;  purely  philanthropic,  I  assure  you." 

Axtell  scowled  him  into  silence,  his  eyes  gleaming  with 
evil,  but  when  he  spoke,  it  was  in  the  honeyed  tones  of  the 
fashionable  evangelist  —  the  "devil  quoting  Scripture," 
of  a  verity. 

"  We  were  given  brains  not  to  cheat  our  fellow  men.  Miss 
Duress,  but  to  teach  them  not  to  cheat.  We  were  given 
strength  to  protect  the  weak,  not  to  oppress  them.     To-day 


THE  FEAR  303 

the  strong  in  mind  and  body  own  just  one  law  —  the  law 
of  the  conqueror.  We  fight  them  by  their  own  rules.  They 
steal  with  protection,  and  we  steal  without  it.  That  is 
the  only  difference." 

Decima  lifted  a  tear-stained  face. 

"So  you  —  you  didn't  —  do  it  —  for  me  —  after  all,'* 
she  said,  between  sobs. 

"Only  partly,"  Stephen  answered,  his  voice  dull. 

"You  —  you  —  break  into  houses? —  like  a  burglar  ?" 

"I  am  a  burglar,  Decima;  but  it  hurts  to  hear  you  say  so." 

"Oh,  I  understand,"  she  cried  impulsively,  catching  his 
hand  again.  "I  understand,  and  I  honour  you  for  it, 
Stephen.  But  you  mustn't  do  it  any  more;  no,  not  any  more, 
will  you?  I  have  some  money.  You  can  have  it  —  all  — 
nearly  a  million  dollars.  You  can  do  anything  you  like 
with  it.  Only  don't  —  don't  —  you  know!  Promise  me 
you  won't,  dear!" 

Axtell  held  himself  hard  against  the  back  of  his  chair. 
His  hope  of  future  wealth  was  slipping  away  from  him  as 
a  new  something  dawned  in  Stephen's  eyes.  He  spoke 
coldly: 

"  Stephen  has  given  almost  half  of  what  you  have  already. 
If  he  quits  the  fight  now,  it  means  he  goes  back  on  all  the 
principles  he  says  he  believes  in.  It  means  he  is  a  coward! 
But  he  won't  be !  I  know  Stephen  better  than  that !  Don't 
I,  my  boy?" 

He  had  played  on  this  chord  ever  since  the  boy  had  been 
old  enough  to  reason.  Fearing  it  might  be  as  effective  as 
ever,  Rag,  in  a  frenzy  of  rage  shot  across  the  room,  and  shook 
his  clinched  hand  in  Axtell 's  face. 


304  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"Shet  up!  Shet  up,"  he  yelled.  "You've  had  enough 
from  Steve.  Steve,  old  pal,"  he  entreated,  a  hand  on  the 
younger  man's  shoulder,  "  for  God's  sake,  wake  up !  Don't 
let  him  bull  you  any  more!  Don't!  Take  a  tumble  to 
yourself!" 

Rag  hated  what  he  would  have  called  a  "stool" —  an  in- 
former; but  his  desire  was  strong  that  Stephen  should 
no  longer  be  misled.  Without  giving  any  of  the  details 
of  the  gigantic  deceit  that  had  been  practised  on  him  from 
boyhood.  Rag,  by  a  spurt  of  telepathic  force,  managed  to 
stir  a  cog  in  Stephen's  mental  wheel.  Nor  did  Stephen 
need  much  arousement.  He  was  awakening.  He  knew 
that  Axtell  was  endeavouring  to  destroy  his  happiness, 
to  keep  him  from  the  girl  who  was  willing  to  overlook  his 
ofiFences  against  the  law;  who,  careless  of  what  the  public 
might  say,  was  willing  to  give  herself  and  all  that  was  hers 
into  the  keeping  of  one  confessed  as  a  thief.  And  he  began 
to  see  clearly  the  selfishness  and  the  mean  dishonesty  of 
his  preceptors. 

"What  are  you  trying  to  do,  Axtell?"  he  asked,  turning 
with  sudden  grim  fierceness.  "  Didn't  you  hear  Miss  Duress 
say  she  understood  and  forgave?  Don't  you  know  I  love 
her?  Do  you  want  me  to  ruin  my  life  and  hers?  Up  to 
a  minute  ago  I  thought  I  would  lose  her  after  she  found  out 
what  I  was,  and  I  couldn't  see  any  use  going  on  living. 
And  now,  when  she  understands  and  overlooks,  you'd  have 
me  go  on  stealing?  It  was  all  right  when  I  had  just  myself 
to  think  about  and  when  I  thought  you  believed  yourselves 
in  the  principles  you  taught  me;  but  it  isn't  all  right  now! 
I  want  the  woman  I  love;  and  I  know  you  for  a  gang  of 


THE  FEAR  305 

real  thieves!  I've  helped  the  people:  I've  saved  the  city 
to-night  at  the  risk  of  everything  I  wanted  myself.  It's 
time  to  think  of  myself  a  little  now  —  and  of  her!  I  don't 
just  know  when  it's  to  be:  I'll  have  to  leave  this  city,  go 
somewhere  else,  begin  a  career  alone  for  a  while.  I  couldn't 
use  your  money,  Decima;  that  wouldn't  be  fair!  I've  got 
to  stand  before  you  self-supporting  at  least,  and  all  I  know 
how  to  do  now  is  steal.  But  have  no  fear.  In  a  world  as 
stupid  as  this,  it  isn't  diflBcult  to  make  your  way.  It  won't 
be  long,  dear." 

He  took  her  into  his  arms.  Axtell,  his  face  working  in 
silent  fury,  was  restrained  from  speech  by  the  hand  of  Hilary, 
and  Stephen  and  the  girl  passed  from  the  room  together. 

"In  another  minute,  dear  old  chap,"  said  Hilary  warn- 
ingly,  "Stephen  would  have  realized  just  about  what  our 
motives  are.  You  can't  argue  with  a  man  when  he's  in 
love.  But  wait  until  we  get  him  alone  again.  The  old 
arguments  have  never  failed.  He'll  come  around  to  terms. 
And  remember,  as  he  said,  he  can't  do  anything  hit  steal. 
That's  the  main  point,  dear  old  boy." 

"As  it  is,  we're  all  pretty  lucky  we're  not  in  jail,"  said 
Morgenstein.  "That's  good  enough.  But  I'm  not  sure 
about  Stephen  coming  to  terms.  Finkelstein's  beginning 
to  think." 

"He  means  Frankenstein,"  said  Hilary  soberly.  "That's 
not  a  pleasing  thought,  Morgy." 

Axtell,  finally  coherent,  became  impossible  of  speech. 


CHAPTER  X 
THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  DEPARTS  FROM  IT 

SINCE  Van  Tromp  had  spoken,  Stephen  Janissary  had 
said  no  word.  The  man  who  had  ruled  milHons  had 
suffered  himself  to  be  led  away  as  a  child  is  led  by  its  nurse. 
Solicitations,  entreaties,  requests  for  information  as  to  his 
desires  and  wishes,  had  all  fallen  on  deaf  ears.  The  old  man 
(for  now  it  had  become  apparent  that  Stephen  Janissary  was 
very  old)  sat  staring  with  eyes  that  saw  but  one  thing  —  the 
shoe  of  a  little  child;  with  ears  that  heard  only  the  words 
that  his  enemy  had  spoken;  sat  and  stared  and  was  silent. 

Many  times  they  came  to  him,  Eliason,  the  butler, 
Timothy;  Vaughan,  and  O'Shea  had  tried  to  tell  him  some- 
thing —  something  about  statements  or  papers  or  whether 
or  not  the  mayor  would  sign  some  franchise  the  following 
morning.  It  had  been  words  to  Stephen  Janissary  —  noth- 
ing more. 

At  last  they  left  him  in  peace  and  the  great  house  was 
still.  He  was  glad  of  that.  These  people  with  their  buzzing 
about  papers  and  money  and  policemen  and  mayors  were 
very  tiresome.  They  did  not  understand  that  Stephen 
Janissary  had  other  things  of  which  to  think  —  the  shoes 
of  little  children,  for  instance,  and  old  grocers  in  antiquated 
garments,  and  sons  who  were  thieves. 

306 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  DEPARTS      307 

Outside  the  wind  hurled  frozen  flakes  against  the  window. 
Within  the  fire  died  slowly  for  want  of  fuel;  the  old  room  was 
lit  up,  spasmodically,  by  its  flames  and  flickers.  And,  after 
a  long  time,  it  died  down  and  the  room  grew  cold.  But 
the  old  man  did  not  know. 

There  were  things  to  remember:  for  instance,  the  night 
the  street  before  the  house  had  been  strewn  with  tan  bark, 
and  he  had  stood  in  the  stately  dining-room  below,  no 
longer  dreaming  in  teas,  sugars,  and  spices,  but  in  a  world 
conquest  for  his  son  —  his  son,  Stephen  Janissary,  junior  — 
who  would  marry  the  daughter  of  that  old  aristocrat,  Ben 
Duress,  and  rule  the  world  of  business  in  the  days  to  come. 

He  had  begun  to  build  not  for  himself,  but  for  that  tiny 
bit  of  humanity  that  lay  in  its  swan's-down  coverings  just 
across  the  hall  from  the  room  in  which  he  now  stood.  The 
business  his  father  left  him  had  been  good  enough  for 
Stephen  Janissary,  but  the  boy  must  have  more,  more; 
for  he  would  be  a  gentleman  and  the  husband  of  a  Duress. 

Those  two  years  that  had  passed  then  —  the  only  happy 
ones  of  his  life  —  after  he  amalgamated  with  Duress  and 
added  shop  after  shop  to  his  chain;  coming  home  each  night 
in  fresh  triumph  to  rush  up  stairs  to  where  the  child  lay  and 
take  him  tenderly  in  his  hairy  hands,  something  too  deli- 
cate and  fragile  for  one  like  him  to  hold  at  all. 

He  had  begun  for  the  boy's  sake,  and  what  he  had  begun 
he  could  not  stop;  no,  not  even  when  his  heart  had  been 
wrung  with  agony,  and  he  had  sought  to  spend  all  his 
millions  to  recover  that  most  precious  of  his  possessions. 

Struck  down  in  the  dark  and  by  such  a  one  as  that  ghost 
that  had  come  to  his  feast  to-night;  struck  down,  struck  down! 


308  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

He  wondered,  dully,  if  men  would  have  called  upon  his 
name  with  hatred  if  the  boy  had  not  been  taken  from  him? 
At  all  events,  he  would  have  had  one  that  would  have  loved 
him  better  than  life  itself;  one  for  whom  he  would  have 
gladly  died. 

Those  days  in  Washington  Square,  when  he  had  sat  with 
old  Ben  Duress,  the  children  side  by  side;  those  nights  when 
he  sent  the  nurse  away  and  sat  beside  the  child's  cradle, 
rocking  it  with  his  foot,  and  humming  to  it  scraps  of  street 
songs  and  old  Methodist  hymns  that  he  remembered  from 
boyhood. 

The  years  between  that  time  and  the  present  seemed  a 
blur  to  him.  He  remembered,  dimly,  as  men  do  unimpor- 
tant things,  that  a  man  who  was  afterward  President  of 
the  land  had  come  humbly  to  him,  soliciting  his  good  offices, 
and  that  he  had  carelessly  wrung  from  him  promises  which 
were  fulfilled  abjectly.  Dully,  he  recalled  pictures  and 
caricatures  of  himself,  in  every  one  of  which  he  wore  a  crown 
and  held  a  sceptre. 

Then,  suddenly,  he  recalled  that  all  men  hated  him! 

Was  there  one  who  ever  basked  in  the  warmth  of  his 
smile  for  anything  except  gain?  Was  there  a  single  one 
who  sought  his  companionship  for  any  reason  save  business 
association  and  advancement?  His  lieutenants,  his  secre- 
taries, his  employes  —  they  all  froze  when  he  came  near 
them,  and  he  had  once  jubilated  in  the  fact  that,  though 
they  hated  him,  they  were  yet  only  his  bond-servants  and 
slaves,  over  whose  lives  he  held  absolute  suzerainty;  who 
grew  glad  when  he  approved,  who  chilled  to  the  bone  when 
he  frowned. 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  DEPARTS      309 

The  people,  too,  might  hate,  but  how  they  feared  him! 
The  crowds  that  made  way  for  his  car,  the  politicians  who 
came  humbly  soliciting  his  aid,  his  associates  in  business 
who  listened  meekly  while  he  laid  down  the  law,  his  clerks, 
his  servants  —  never  had  one  of  them  revolted,  for  they 
were  afraid  and  fawned  upon  him,  sycophants  all! 

To-morrow  morning,  they  would  read  in  those  hateful 
prints  that  his  son  was  a  thief  I 

Stephen  Janissary's  son  a  thief;  handled  by  policemen; 
taken  to  the  common  jail;  insulted  by  all!  Stephen  Janis- 
sary's flesh  and  blood  — the  one  creature  in  all  the  world 
that  he  had  loved  and  that  was  absolutely  his  own. 

They  would  profess  sorrow  —  those  fools! — but  in  their 
hearts  they  would  be  glad.  Though  he  would  not  see  it 
they  would  smile  and  nudge  one  another  when  he  passed. 
Those  that  he  despised  and  ruled  would  be  laughing  at  him 

—  the  whole  world  would  be  laughing  at  him,  and,  maybe, 
what  was  worse,  pitying  him. 

It  came  upon  him  in  that  instant  that  he  had  failed 

—  failed  absolutely.  All  his  life  he  had  known  nothing  save 
figures,  figures,  figures.  He  had  had  no  childhood,  no 
happiness!  One  wife  had  feared,  the  other  hated,  him! 
He  saw  no  beauty  in  the  things  in  which  even  the  humblest 
found  their  pleasure. 

When  Stephen  was  bom,  he  might  have  retired  —  a 
man  of  comfortable  income  with  no  need  to  work  again  all 
his  life.  What  did  he  want  with  more  money?  His  tastes 
had  ever  been  simple;  his  requirements  few.  What  he  had 
spent  in  ostentation  had  been  only  on  the  advice  of  others. 
No!    He  had  made  this  fortune  for  the  boy  —  piled  up 


310  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

millions  until  they  were  uncountable  and  spent  little  or 
nothing.  It  had  been  for  the  boy:  and  now  that  boy  was 
a  thief! 

"No  man  has  ever  bested  me;  no  man  ever  kept  me  from 
what  I  wanted;  and  no  man  ever  shall." 

Was  it  only  yesterday  that  he  had  said  that?  or  was  it 
years  ago?  How  had  he  dared  defy  something  so  far  beyond, 
so  vast,  so  terrible?  Something  that  had  chosen  for 
the  instrument  of  its  vengeance  the  meanest  of  Stephen 
Janissary's  victims. 

Beaten  by  an  old  fool,  a  small  tradesman  whom  he  had 
trodden  down  on  his  way  to  rulership,  one  so  small  that  he 
had  not  even  a  recollection  of  his  face  or  his  name !  Beaten 
by  an  old  fool,  who,  while  Janissary  had  thought  himself 
ruler  of  the  people,  had  crouched  in  some  foul  hole,  leering 
and  grinning,  and  only  waiting  for  the  time  to  come  when 
his  enemy  would  reach  the  zenith  of  his  career  to  humble 
him  utterly  before  all  those  bond-servants  and  slaves  whom 
he  despised. 

Beaten  by  an  old  fool! 

Pictures  came  to  him  —  horrible  pictures !  Pictures 
of  a  little  child  subjected  to  shameful  tortures  because  he 
was  his,  Stephen  Janissary's  son.  Pictures  of  that  child 
being  told  of  his  own  father  as  a  devil  in  human  form,  one 
to  be  loathed  and  hated,  his  smallest  actions  interpreted 
into  fiendish  deeds.  He  remembered  the  night  on  the 
Mauradriatic  when  young  Stephen's  bitter  words  had 
burned  into  his  brain: 

"The  stolen  money  of  poor  shop-keepers  who're  in  the 
morgue  because  you've  ruined  them    .     .     .    the  blood 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  DEPARTS     311 

money  of  labourers  who  sweat  twelve  hours  a  day  for  you 
.  .  .  the  virtue-wrung  money  of  their  daughters  whom 
you've  driven  to  the  streets  and  the  brothel  .  .  . 
tainted  money,  you  thief,  yes;  money  with  the  curse  of 
death  on  every  dollar.    You  thief!" 

So  his  son  thought  him  a  thief;  his  own  son,  who  had 
cheated  him  —  a  common  card  sharp  —  called  him  a 
thief,  and  gave  his  money  to  charity  —  the  money  that 
he  had  piled  up  for  that  very  son ! 

Oh,  how  they  would  laugh  and  jibe  and  sneer  to-morrow! 
Stephen  Janissary  the  father  of  a  thief;  Stephen  Janissary 
beaten  by  an  old  fool;  Stephen  Janissary  disowned  by  his 
own  flesh  and  blood,  who,  even  if  he  was  both  card  cheat 
and  burglar,  thought  himself  better  than  his  father. 

Laugh,  laugh,  laugh! 

He  struggled  to  his  feet.  The  last  coal  had  burned  itself 
out  it  seemed.  They  would  laugh,  eh.?  Laugh  at  Stephen 
Janissary!    Well,  he  would  cheat  them  of  that  anyhow! 

He  had  ruled  them  once.  Let  them  always  remember 
him  as  Stephen  Janissary,  the  ruler,  the  Warwick,  the  king- 
maker, who  had  made  the  public  his  bond-servants  and 
his  slaves. 

Laugh  at  him,  would  they?  They'd  not  laugh!  He'd 
see  to  that!  They  should  respect  him  even  in  memory, 
for  he  was  their  ruler,  and  game  to  the  end.  11  he  might 
not  rule,  then  it  was  time  that  he  should  go. 

But  laugh!  they  should  never  do  that! 

He  groped  across  the  room  to  his  night  table.  In  the 
drawer  of  it  had  always  been  a  protection  against  possible 
slaves,  who,  losing  their  reason,  might  come  to  him  in  their 


312  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

maniacal  fury.  How  cool  and  relieving  the  cold  metal 
of  it  was  against  his  hot,  crackling  skin! 

No,  they  would  never  laugh!  With  faults  and  sins  that 
were  greater  than  other  men,  he  was  still  a  man  for  all  that, 
and  one  who  despised  them  even  when  his  departure  was  at 
hand. 

He  had  been  wrong  about  the  fire.  A  great  streamer 
shot  up  all  unawares  and  showed  that  the  white  of  the  snow 
against  the  window  panes  was  as  nothing  to  the  white  of 
Stephen  Janissary's  face,  along  which  was  slowly  creeping 
some  dark,  snake-like  thing  that  seemed  to  grow  as  it  came. 


CHAPTER   XI 

"TO  THOSE  FROM  WHENCE  IT  CAME." 

I 

CANBY  KERNAHAN  INTERVIEWS   ELIASON 

O INCE  it  had  become  his  misfortune  to  be  attached  to 
^^  the  afternoon  edition  of  his  paper,  his  splendid  work 
on  the  Graham-McKenna  case  having  terminated  his  con- 
nection with  the  Sunday  sheet,  Canby  Kernahan  knew  he 
must  heed  the  none  too  dulcet  tones  of  an  alarm-clock  when 
that  useful  article  announced  that  the  hour  of  seven  was  at 
hand.  Bath,  breakfast,  and  subway  journey  all  must  be 
accomplished  before  the  hour  of  eight,  for  that  was  the  time 
he  was  expected  to  report  to  that  (oflScially)  stem  tyrant, 
his  city  editor. 

On  this  particular  morning,  Canby  found  him  in  a  state 
of  great  mental  perturbation,  pacing  up  and  down  the  room, 
and  shouting  terrifying  orders  to  **cub"  reporters,  who  al- 
ways arrived  at  least  a  quarter-hour  before  their  time. 
Canby  was  the  first  dependable  member  of  the  staff  to  appear 
and  the  city  editor  might  have  fallen  on  his  neck  for  sheer 
joy,  had  he  been  a  Gaul  or  lived  in  another  age.  As  it  was, 
he  only  sneered  furiously : 

813 


814  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"You're  actually  here  at  last,  are  you?  Oh,  this  is  a 
great  staff  I've  got  but  not  for  newspaper  work.  Jour- 
nalists, ain't  you?  Or  did  a  magazine  accept  a  story 
from  you?  Maybe  Frohasco  has  given  you  an  advance 
on  a  play?  What?" 

Canby,  being  accustomed  to  such  manifestations  of  ill- 
humour  whenever  any  big  news  features  eventuated,  merely 
took  out  his  watch  and  put  the  dial  under  the  nose  of  his 
superior  officer. 

"Oh,  you're  one  of  those  fellows  that  work  by  the  clock, 
are  you?  Wash  your  hands  at  quarter  to  three  so  you'll 
be  ready  to  tear  out  when  it  strikes;  you " 

"Oh,  pish-tush,  Bates!"  returned  Canby  good-naturedly. 
"What's  the  row?" 

"Row  —  row?  Hell's  broke  loose,  no  less.  The  mayor 
has  sent  out  word  he  won't  sign  the  franchise  —  that's  good 
for  a  three-column  head  on  the  front  page " 

"Good  for  a  full-page  spread,  you  mean,"  returned 
Canby,  jubilantly.  "War  type,  too.  Didn't  we  do  it 
all  ourselves?  Isn't  it  our  work?  Three-column  head 
be  teetotally  damned!  Six  column  spread  is  what  you 
mean?" 

"Oh,  do  I?  Do  I?  Then  what  I  am  going  to  do  with  the 
story  of  Stephen  Janissary's  suicide?  Since  you're  so  wise, 
maybe  you'll  tell  me  that?" 

"  Whose  —  suicide  ?  " 

The  reporter  dropped  both  the  cigarette  and  lighted 
match  he  had  been  holding. 

"Here,  stamp  out  that  flame  before  it  sets  fire  to  that 
copy  paper.    Got  anything  against  this   sheet?    Stephen 


"TO  THOSE  FROM  WHENCE  IT  CAME"  315 

Janissary's  suicide,  I  said,  *Big  Steve'  Janissary's;  that's 
whose,  and " 

"Are  you  sure  it  was  suicide?" 

"  No;  I  'm  not  sure  I  'm  living !  But  he  did  it  with  his  own 
revolver,  in  his  own  room,  with  his  door  locked  from  the 
inside,  and  he  had  the  gun  clutched  in  his  hand  when  they 
found  him." 

"Who  reported  it?" 

"City  News!  So  I'll  have  to  put  Douglas  Thomas  on 
the  franchise  case  and  send  you  up  to  Janissary's " 

"But  the  franchise  case  is  mine,"  complained  Canby. 

"Oh,  fat-head!  Don't  you  see  I'm  giving  you  the  star 
assignment?  The  franchise  story  is  all  right,  but  this  death 
of  Janissary 's  —  and  suicide  at  that  —  is  worth  two  or 
three  pages  to  the  paper.     Here,  Young!" 

He  hailed  another  member  of  the  staff  who  had  just 
entered,  and  who,  conscious  that  he  should  have  been  there 
a  few  moments  before  to  be  strictly  impeccable,  came  for- 
ward on  the  run. 

"Go  with  Kernahan,  Young.  And  you'll  want  a  couple 
of  cubs,  too,  to  run  errands,  I  guess.  Hey,  you  kids  over 
there!  —  Demarest,  Huntley  —  the  others  of  you  sit  still  — 
come  here !  Go  with  Mr.  Kernahan !  Now  get  out,  Canby ! 
Here's  the  *  flimsy'  from  the  City  News.  Take  a  taxicab; 
take  a  couple  of  taxicabs;  only  get  there  in  time  to  give  us 
a  page,  at  least,  for  our  second  edition;  we'll  fill  the  first 
up  with  rewrites  from  the  'morgue.'  Go  on  the  lamm, 
boys!" 

The  taxicab  requisitioned  just  off  Park  Row,  it  was  only 
a  matter  of  moments  before  they  passed  through  the  snow- 


316  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

wreathed  arch  that  is  the  gateway  to  Washington  Square, 
and,  a  block  from  the  Janissary  house,  found  further  prog- 
ress impeded  by  a  mounted  policeman,  who  raised  a  white- 
gloved  hand. 

"Go  'round  to  Sixth  Av'noo  and  come  back,"  he  directed. 
"Yuh  can't  come  this  way." 

Canby  craned  his  neck  from  the  window  and  noted  that 
Fifth  Avenue  for  two  blocks  seemed  more  like  Brooklyn 
Bridge  terminal  after  the  close  of  business.  Even  the 
mounted  policemen  —  of  whom  there  were  many  — 
seemed  to  find  some  difficulty  in  forcing  their  horses 
through  the  press.  On  the  nearest  side  street  motor  vehicles, 
broughams,  and  landaus  were  parked  on  both  sides  as  if  for 
a  racing  meet  or  a  Vanderbilt  Cup  race. 

"Here,  chauflFeur,"  Canby  directed,  "we'll  drop  you  here. 
Take  your  fare.     Come  along,  boys." 

They  left  the  machine  and  began  their  efforts  to  reach 
the  Janissary  house.  Another  policeman,  this  one  on  foot 
and  wielding  his  night  stick  with  fine  carelessness  for  the 
heads  of  the  crowd,  attempted  to  push  them  back;  but 
Canby  showed  his  police  card,  and,  to  avoid  any  more 
attempted  detainments  of  the  sort,  placed  that  useful  bit 
of  blue  and  orange  printing  in  the  band  of  his  derby  hat. 
Half  of  those  through  whom  he  fought  his  way  were  ignorant 
of  the  cause  that  had  brought  so  many  people  together,  and 
eagerly  inquired  of  Canby,  or  any  others  who  seemed  to  be 
steering  a  definite  course,  what  was  the  occasion.  Was  the 
President  in  town?  Was  it  a  holiday  they  had  overlooked 
and  might  they  expect  a  parade?  The  other  half  knew  of 
Janissary's  death  by  his  own  hand  and  they  were  split  into 


"TO  THOSE  FROM  \MIENCE  IT  CAME"  317 

rival  factions,  three  quarters  of  them  expressing  the  conven- 
tional sorrow  that  comes  so  cheaply  and  readily  to  common- 
place people  when  the  demise  of  any  one  is  announced;  the 
other  quarter  seemingly  of  the  opinion  that  the  suicide 
story  was  a  myth  and  that  some  one  had  killed  the  master 
of  Amalgamated. 

"Hope  they  don't  catch  him!" 

"The  cops  have  got  'im  now  —  in  that  there  house. 
They're  a-waitin'  till  we  go  away  so's  they  kin  take  'im  to 
th'  Tombs!" 

"Let's  rescue  'im  then,  shall  we?" 

"Sure;  let's  get  nearer  —  come  on!" 

Canby  lost  his  hat  before  he  was  half-way  to  the  house, 
nor  did  he  try  to  retrieve  anything  but  the  police  card;  for 
the  hat  was  trampled  hopelessly  out  of  shape  the  moment 
it  struck  the  ground,  and  his  fingers  came  near  sharing  its 
fate  when  he  reached  for  the  bit  of  pasteboard.  The  mad 
mob  spirit  now  took  upon  his  gentle  soul,  and  he  pushed, 
kicked,  nudged,  elbowed,  struck,  and  otherwise  disgrace- 
fully comported  himself  in  his  efforts  to  attain  his  goal, 
which  he  did  finally  at  the  expense  of  his  feet,  which  were 
cruelly  trodden  upon,  and  his  neck-tie,  which  he  lost  utterly. 
He  was  therefore  in  no  mood  to  receive  graciously  the  an- 
nouncement of  one  of  the  many  policemen  who  kept  the 
crowds  back  from  the  gate  to  Janissary's  garden  that  he 
could  not  enter,  but,  showing  his  police  card  with  one  hand, 
and  tearing  back  coat,  vest,  and  overcoat  with  the  other,  he 
disclosed  his  fire  badge  fastened  to  his  braces;  and,  then, 
without  further  ado,  entered  the  garden  alone,  for  his  fol- 
lowers had  evidently  not  shared  his  luck. 


318  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

The  coroner  had  been  and  gone,  a  lieutenant  of  police 
inside  assured  him;  no,  there  wasn't  any  doubt  about  the 
suicide;  Mr.  Janissary  had  killed  himself,  but  why  no  one 
could  say.  The  embalmers  had  taken  charge  of  the  body  — 
or  it  was  to  be  cremated,  he  believed  (wasn  't  sure)  —  and 
nobody  could  see  it.  No  good  to  see  it,  anyhow,  after  the 
coroner's  verdict  had  been  passed,  was  there?  Had  had 
a  party  the  night  before  and  had  killed  himself  after  all  the 
guests  were  gone.  About  three  o'clock,  Mr.  Eli-son — 
or  some  such  person  —  Mr.  Janissary 's  secretary  he  was, 
had  heard  a  shot  and  tried  to  get  into  the  room.  It  was 
locked,  so,  being  an  old  man,  he  had  to  get  the  butler  and 
the  other  servants  out  of  bed  and  after  all  of  them  had 
yelled  for  Mr.  Janissary  at  the  top  of  their  lungs  and  hadn  't 
got  any  answer,  they  had  broken  down  the  door,  and  found 
their  master  lying  with  his  feet  toward  the  door  and  his  head 
on  the  hearth.  Had  his  own  revolver  in  his  hand;  one  of 
those  long,  nickelled  barrelled  Jiver-Olson's  .38  with  a 
mother-of-pearl  inlaid  handle;  yes,  he  (the  lieutenant)  had 
seen  it,  and  it  had  Mr.  Janissary's  monogram  on  it;  this 
Mr.  Eli-son  remembered  having  bought  it  at  Griff ony's 
several  years  before.  Wasn't  any  doubt  about  the  suicide, 
although,  to  make  sure,  he  and  some  other  central  office 
men  had  examined  the  windows  and  the  ground  beneath 
them  to  see  if  there  were  any  finger  marks  or  rope  marks 
on  the  sills  or  any  footprints  below  —  any  of  which  would  be 
very  easy  to  find  with  so  much  snow  about  especially  as  the 
weather  bureau  reports  said  the  snow  had  stopped  falling 
at  two  o'clock,  so  they  couldn't  be  hidden  —  didn't  he  see? 
And  that  was  all  he  knew  about  it,  and  he'd  told  it  so  many 


"TO  THOSE  FROM  WHENCE  IT  CAME"  319 

times  his  throat  was  getting  dry,  and  if  he  (Canby)  or  any 
of  the  other  newspaper  boys  wanted  a  drink  all  they  had 
to  do  was  to  come  down  to  the  dining-room.  .  .  .  This 
Mr.  Eli-son?  He  couldn't  just  say,  but  he  thought  he  was 
in  that  room  at  the  head  of  the  stairs. 

Canby,  exchanging  curt  greeting  with  other  press  men 
who  thronged  about  the  men  from  the  central  office  jotting 
down  notes  on  folded  copy  paper,  made  his  way  up  the  back 
stairway  and,  without  knocking,  opened  the  door  to  the 
library  where  sat  O'Shea,  Vaughan,  RolKns  K.  Hilman, 
Philip  Helmet,  Arbuthnot,  and  more  of  last  night's  dinner 
guests,  along  with  others  closely  associated  with  the  affairs 
of  Amalgamated  and  the  various  businesses  of  which 
the  dead  man  had  been  the  controlling  factor.  They  did  not 
note  Canby 's  addition  to  their  number,  so  absorbed  were 
they  in  some  matter  which  was  receiving  their  closest  —  if 
somewhat  excited  and  apprehensive  —  attention. 

"We've  got  to  smother  it  up,  I  tell  you.  The  market  'ull 
all  go  to  hell  as  it  is." 

"After  what  the  fellow  did  last  night,  what  chance  will 
any  of  us  have  when  he's  the  head  of  Amalgamated? 
As  O'Shea  says,  Eliason,  we've  got  to  smother  it  up.  Buy 
the  young  man  off;  tell  him  he  can't  prove  his  claim, 
and  that  we'll  fight  him  through  the  courts  every  step  of 
the  way." 

"You  haven't  got  any  proof,  anyhow,  except  the  word  of 
a  crazy  old  fool." 

"What's  the  matter  with  buying  the  old  fool  off?" 

Canby  sank  down  into  a  chair  at  the  back  of  the  room. 
There  were  at  least  twenty  men  present,  sitting  and  standing. 


320  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

but  their  eyes  had  not  wandered  his  way  as  yet,  so  intently 
were  they  focussed  on  Eliason,  who,  with  one  hand  held, 
trumpet-fashion  to  his  good  ear,  listened  to  the  various 
heated  speeches  above  recorded;  and  answered  with  due 
deliberation. 

"It  is  a  thing  to  ask,  gentlemen.  Mr.  Janissary's  own 
son!  I  can't  do  it.  Besides,  this  man  Van  Tromp  swears 
to  go  to  the  newspapers  with  the  whole  story.  He  seems 
to  care  for  the  boy,  somehow;  watched  him  grow  up,  you 
know:  hated  the  father  but  loved  the  boy;  wants  to  make 
reparation.     You    understand    my    position,    gentlemen!" 

"You  actually  mean,  then,  that  you're  going  to  send  for 
this  son  and  tell  him  that  everything  that  was  Janissary's 
belongs  to  him?" 

Philip  Helmet  spoke,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  des- 
pairingly, one  hand  held  to  his  aching  head.  He  was  a 
sleek,  prosperous  gentleman  about  whom  press  and  public 
had  had  considerable  to  say  when  soldiers  fighting  for  their 
country  in  a  distant  land  had  written  home  concerning 
foul  and  diseased  meats  given  them  for  rations.  He  had 
taken  that  affair  lightly  but  the  prospect  he  now  faced  gave 
to  his  eyes  a  look  as  sickly  as  that  of  any  starving  soldier 
who  had  opened  a  can  of  his  meat. 

"A  little  louder,  Mr.  Helmet;  the  right  side,  you  know! 
Thank  you!    Yes;  what  else  can  I  do?" 

Rollins  K.  Hilman,  a  little,  hawk-nosed  man,  the  bald 
spot  on  his  crown  giving  him  the  appearance  of  a  renegade 
monk,  broke  in  fiercely  with: 

"Do?  Do  anything  but  hand  over  a  fortune  like  that  to 
a  mad  Socialist!  Socialist,  no!  Anarchist,  I  mean;  Socialists 


"TO  THOSE  FROM  WHENCE  IT  CAME"  321 

never  do  anything.  This  fellow  will  wreck  the  Street 
in  two  weeks.     I  won 't  stand  it ;  I  tell  you  I  won 't,  Eliason ! " 

"He's  right;  it  won't  do!"  said  Arbuthnot  heavily. 

"This  Van  Tromp  won't  dare  confess  to  kidnapping; 
why  he  can  get  twenty  years'  imprisonment  for  that!"  said 
O'Shea,  his  trained  legal  mind  seizing  upon  the  only  possi- 
ble chance.  "And  you  can  tell  him  from  us,  Eliason,  that 
we'll  see  he  gets  life  if  he  dares  tell  that  story.  More;  if  he 
goes  away  and  shuts  his  mouth,  we'll  give  him  a  cool  hun- 
dred thousand.  Put  your  damned  ear  closer,  Eliason;  did 
you  hear  what  I  said.?" 

"I  heard,  Mr.  O'Shea,  but  it's  no  use.  Van  Tromp 
expects  to  go  to  the  penitentiary  —  rather  welcomes  it  — 
martyr's  crown,  so  to  speak.  Gentlemen,  there's  not  a 
possible  chance  of  averting  this  thing.  We've  got  a  fanatic, 
and  a  bold  dangerous  young  man,  to  fight.  The  public  loves 
this  young  Stephen;  calls  him 'Stephen  the  Magnificent.'" 

"Spectacular  ass,"  growled  Fillimore,  feeling  nervously 
the  knot  he  had  carelessly  tied  in  his  hurry  and  wondering 
if  he  preserved  his  usual  well-groomed  appearance. 

"But  this  Van  Tromp  can't  jyrove  his  story,  I  tell  you," 
almost  moaned  Helmet,  both  hands  now  circling  his  forehead, 
for  the  pain  of  his  headache  had  became  intense. 

"The  right  side,  Mr.  Helmet." 

"Oh,  damn  your  ear,  Eliason,"  shouted  O'Shea.  "Hel- 
met says  this  old  daddy  longlegs  can 't  'prove  his  claim  — 
can't  prove  it!    And  I  think  he's  right  J* 

"Well,  he  isn't,  sir  —  if  you'll  pardon  me!  First  of  all, 
the  boy's  the  living  picture  of  Mr.  Janissary;  second,  this 
man  Van  Tromp  has  got  all  the  baby  clothes  that  the  child 


322  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

wore  when  it  was  stolen;  and  third,  he's  willing  to  go  to  the 
penitentiary  to  right  the  wrong  he's  done  the  boy.  Now 
if  he  tells  this  story  to  the  newspapers  all  the  happenings  of 
last  night  will  come  out;  people  will  learn  how  this  Stephen 
Adams  got  the  statements  that  defeated  the  franchise  and 
they'll  help  him  fight  his  case  until  he  wins  it.  It  will  be 
a  painful  family  story  and  a  disgraceful  business  altogether. 
There  may  be  an  investigation  ordered  by  the  attorney-gen- 
eral. You  've  all  seen  this  Stephen  Adams !  Does  he  strike 
you  as  the  sort  of  man  who  '11  lay  down  on  his  claims  where 
the  greatest  fortune  in  the  world  is  concerned?" 

"Good  God!  a  mad  Anarchist  with  a  billion  dollars!" 
groaned  Rollins  K.  Hilman.     "We  can't  allow  it!'* 

"The  right  side,  Mr.  Hilman " 

"'Can't  allow  it,'  he  says,"  stormed  O'Shea. 

"We  must  allow  it.  If  we  fight  young  Stephen  he'll 
get  it  all  the  same,  and,  after  he  gets  it,  he  may  fight  usi 
I  've  kept  this  Van  Tromp  in  the  house  ever  since  he  told  that 
story  last  night,  but  now  that  he  knows  Mr.  Janissary  is  dead, 
I  can't  hold  him  much  longer.  He  says  he'll  go  straight 
to  the  newspapers  if  Stephen  Adams  isn't  here  by  eleven 
o  'clock.     That 's  his  last  word ! " 

Canby  Kernahan,  his  face  flushed,  got  to  his  feet  excitedly. 

"I'll  go  for  Stephen,  Mr.  Eliason!  I'll  go  for  him,"  he 
chirped  happily. 

At  the  sound  of  the  strange  voice,  there  were  no  longer 
any  in  the  room  who  sat.  All  advanced  a  step  with  clinched 
hands,  staring  at  the  intruder. 

"You  didn't  lock  the  door,  you  doddering  idiot!" 

O'Shea  addressed  Eliason,  who  held  up  a  defensive  palm. 


"TO  THOSE  FROM  WHENCE  IT  CAME"  323 

"The  back  door  is  smashed;  I  couldn't  lock  it!  What  do 
you  want  in  here,  Mr.  Kernahan?  "  he  asked  abjectly,  turn- 
ing to  the  reporter.     "How  much  have  you  heard?" 

"I've  heard  enough,"  said  Canby,  nodding  wisely,  "to 
advise  you  to  send  for  Stephen  Adams  immediately;  and  I'll 
be  the  messenger.  Oh,  I  shan't  tell  him  anything;  I'll  leave 
that  to  you,  sir.     But  I  '11  be  here  to  see  that  he 's  told." 

He  turned  abruptly  and  left  the  room. 

"A  newspaper  reporter,"  explained  Eliason.  His  hand 
was  to  his  head  also,  now.  "The  man  who  came  with  John 
Graham  to  demand  those  statements  from  Mr.  Janissary, 
Wednesday  afternoon.     Kernahan 's  his  name!" 

"Kernahan!"  almost  screamed  O'Shea.  "Kernahan?  — 
the  man  who  dug  up  McKenna?" 

Eliason  nodded  and  O'Shea  sat  down,  the  spirit  utterly 
gone  from  him  —  crushed  out  by  this  unexpected  climax  to 
rebellious  indecision.  There  was  silence  for  a  considerable 
length  of  time  if  that  supposedly  fast  fleeting  measurement 
can  be  adjusted  to  the  emotions  that  may  rapidly  succeed 
one  another  in  the  minds  of  men  who  taste  for  the  first  time 
the  bitterness  of  defeat. 

"You  —  traitor,"  said  Fillimore  suddenly.  "I  be- 
lieve you  arranged  to  have  that  reporter  come  in." 

"The  right  side,  Mr.  Fillimore,  if  you  please." 

The  Beau  Brummell  of  Amalgamated  turned  from  him 
with  clinched  fists,  upraised  eyes,  and  a  long-drawn  breath 
of  murderous  impatience.  O'Shea  got  to  his  feet  again  and 
spoke  slowly: 

" Eliason 's  right.  We'll  have  to  acknowledge  the  boy 
and  talk  some  sense  into  his  head.     We'll  tell  the  public 


324  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

that  his  father  has  known  who  he  was  for  some  years,  but 
that,  by  reason  of  the  boy  differing  in  his  opinions  from  him, 
they  could  never  agree  and  that  it  was  the  sorrow  of  his 
father  over  the  boy's  attitude  in  this  matter  that  finally 
drove  him  to  suicide !  We  can  count  on  everybody  keeping 
quiet  who  was  here  last  night.  We'll  have  to  give  those 
detectives  some  more  money,  and  send  the  servants  who 
heard  the  rumpus  back  to  England.  I  think,  if  we  accept  this 
young  man  without  a  murmur  and  try,  day  by  day,  to  impress 
him  with  our  principles,  that  we  '11  get  him  to  be  reasonable 
and  leave  the  business  end  of  his  father 's  affairs  to  us." 

"Yes;  tell  him  to  do  anything  he  wants  with  the  income 
and  the  cash  money;  we  won't  object  to  that,"  cried  Helmet 
eagerly. 

"We  can  show  him,  too,  how  much  more  money  we  can 
make  for  him  to  spend  in  charity  if  he  leaves  it  to  us,"  chimed 
in  Arbuthnot,  his  face  lighting  up.  "Oh,  yes,  I  think  he'll 
listen  to  that;  don't  you,  Fillimore?" 

"Oh,  I'm  damned  if  I  know;  let  me  alone,"  returned 
the  one  addressed,  rudely.  "But,  by  the  way,"  he  added, 
his  expression  also  becoming  more  cheerful,  "what  was  the 
name  of  that  supposed  uncle  of  his  that  this  Van  Tromp  fel- 
low told  you  about  —  the  one  that  took  him  away  from 
Van  Tromp  and  brought  him  up  when  he  got  too  poor? 
I  sort  of  recognized  the  name." 

He  addressed  Eliason,  taking  care  to  enunciate  carefully 
into  his  good  ear.  The  secretary  consulted  the  note-book 
from  which  he  had  read  the  various  facts  concerning 
Stephen's  abduction  and  early  life  when  the  business  asso- 
ciates of  Janissary  had  first  assembled  in  the  library,  and 


"TO  THOSE  FROM  WHENCE  IT  CAME"  325 

which  had  no  errors  —  only  the  omission  of  any  mention 
that  the  training  of  young  Stephen  had  been  a  peculiar 
one;  for  Van  Tromp,  now  that  his  vengeance  was  satiated, 
had  remembered  many  kindly  actions  on  the  part  of  George, 
Morgy,  and  Hilary,  and,  because  of  them,  forgave  his  other 
enemy,  Axtell;  so  that  he  had  given  Eliason  to  understand 
that  the  others  in  the  Chapel  Street  house  had  been  ignorant 
of  the  facts  of  Stephen 's  birth  and  the  home  of  his  babyhood. 

"Rather  peculiar  name,  Mr.  Fillimore;  possibly  I  have  it 
wrong.  'Hilary  Quanbos'  is  what  I  have  written  here. 
*Quanbos'  —  an  odd  name,  isn't  it?" 

Fillimore  was  beaming,  positively  beaming.  His  tone 
was  actually  kindly  as  he  corrected  the  secretary. 

"It's  spelt  *Quackenbos,'  but  you've  got  the  pronun- 
ciation correctly.  He's  an  Englishman,  Helmet,"  he  said, 
with  a  smile,  "and  as  sophisticated  a  beggar  as  I  ever  knew! 
Belongs  to  that  actors'  club  up  town  that  I  run  into  occa- 
sionally. If  he  brought  up  the  youngster,  he'll  have  some 
influence  with  him,  and,  believe  me,  I  can't  see  old  Quack- 
enbos  chucking  away  any  millions  because  they  're  what  the 
muck-rakers  call  tainted.  (We  took  some  girls  from  a  show 
out  to  supper  once,  but,  never  mind  that!)  I  know  the  fellow 
and  he's  as  sharp  as  they  make  'em.  Always  had  my  doubts 
of  him  at  cards,  by  the  way,  and  from  what  Janissary  said 
about  his  son  on  the  Mauradriatic  looks  like  Quackenbos 
might  have  taught  the  youngster  some  of  his  tricks." 

"Why,  all  this  'reform'  business  of  young  Stephen's  may 
be  only  a  'front'  anyway,"  agreed  O'Shea,  catching  some  of 
the  other's  optimism.  "A  lot  of  those  fellows  only  raise 
a  howl  and  persecute  us  because  we  don't  let  them  on  the 


326  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

inside  of  the  game.  Guess  we  did  all  our  worrying  for  noth- 
ing if  this  Quackenbos  fellow  is  what  you  say,  Fillimore. 
Now,  before  young  Stephen  comes  here,  suppose  you  go 
around  and  give  this  'uncle'  of  his  a  quiet  tip.     Eh?" 

"Looks  like  good  stuff  to  me,"  answered  the  younger 
man,  stroking  his  short  black  moustache.  "Meanwhile, 
I  '11  leave  you  all  to  soft-soap  the  heir.  But,  by  the  way,  how 
about  that  newspaper  fellow  who  just  went  after  him?" 

"If  he's  a  friend  of  the  boy  he  won't  talk,  will  he?"  re- 
plied O'Shea.  "But,  anyhow,  we'll  see  that  he  doesn't. 
Meanwhile,  run  along,  Fillimore,  and  attend  to  your  part  of 
the  job.     I  promise  you  we'll  look  after  ours." 

Fillimore  caught  up  his  mink-lined  coat,  his  hat,  and  his 
stick,  and  went  out  by  the  front  way.  Eliason  rang  for  the 
butler,  who  pushed  forward  the  wheeled  cellaret  and 
unlocked  its  compartments,  sending  a  footman  for  cracked 
ice  and  charged  waters.  Some  of  those  costly  Havanas  that 
Eliason  loved,  along  with  the  Khedive's  own  private  stock 
of  cigarettes  were  set  alight,  and  the  dove  of  peace  seemed 
for  the  moment  to  have  settled  over  the  members  of 
Amalgamated. 


n 


TO    SET    THE    PEOPLE    FREE 

It  had  been  early  morning  when  Morgenstein  came  to 
Chapel  Street;  he  remembered  noting  how  brightly  the  sun 
had  shone  across  the  snow-covered  roofs  and  chimney  pots 
to  where  the  East  River  ran,  the  sailing  craft  on  it  like 


"TO  THOSE  FROM  WHENCE  IT  CAME"  327 

flowers  wreathed  about  a  shining  sword  when  he  looked 
upon  it  from  his  window  far  up  near  the  roof  of  the  thin  and 
lofty  hotel  that  was  his  home.  And  seeing  the  morning  sun 
was  an  experience  unusual  for  Morgy,  who  usually  quitted 
his  favourite  Tenderloin  cabaret  only  in  time  to  draw  the 
curtains  of  his  bedroom  windows  before  a  red  streamer  from 
the  east  should  seek  to  penetrate  his  privacy,  and  who,  as 
every  bell  boy,  chambermaid,  telephone  girl,  and  desk- 
clerk  in  the  place  knew,  was  under  no  circumstances  to  be 
reminded  that  there  were  such  things  as  breakfast  until 
more  conventional  folk  had  reached  black  coffee  after  lei- 
surely disposing  of  elaborate  "course"  luncheons.  But  the 
particular  exception  had  been  made  in  favour  of  the  insist- 
ent person  from  the  "Spring"  Exchange,  and  the  lobby 
loungers  had  been  treated  to  the  unusual  sight  of  the  gen- 
erally clean  shaven  and  scrupulously  groomed  gentleman 
in  the  astrakhan-collared  coat  hurrying  by  with  a  day's 
growth  of  Assyrian  beard  and  wearing  his  favourite  Ascot 
tie  on  the  lining  side. 

This  had  gone  unnoticed  by  the  wearer  until  it  grew  too 
dark  to  figure  any  longer  and  he  had  strolled  over  to  the 
window,  for  perhaps  the  hundredth  time,  to  where  Axtell 
sat,  his  legs  wrapped  in  a  slumber  rug,  peering  anxiously 
into  the  ingenious  arrangement  of  mirrors  that  gave  the  par- 
alytic sight  of  all  those  who  traversed  both  sides  of  Chapel 
Street  and  even  occasional  glimpses  of  comet-like  elevated 
trains  whisking  their  green-lighted  tails  up  Sixth  Avenue. 

"Ain't  he  even  in  sight,  yet?"  asked  the  Jew. 

Axtell  shook  his  head,  and  Morgenstein,  peering  into  the 
glasses,  noted  his  sartorial  indiscretion,  and  recrossed  the 


328  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

room  again  to  the  mirror  over  the  mantel,  where,  holding 
his  gorgeous  emerald  and  diamond  pin  in  his  mouth,  he 
carefully  folded  over  the  blanket-like  neck-tie  in  the 
approved  form. 

At  the  centre  table,  Hilary  Quackenbos  and  George  le 
Fay  still  figured  away  on  pages  torn  from  a  copy-book  which 
the  servant  had  purchased  down  the  street  a  half  hour  be- 
fore, the  supply  of  house  writing-paper  having  been  ex- 
hausted by  the  computations  of  the  three  of  them,  since 
Fillimore  had  left  just  before  noon.  At  that  time,  there  had 
been  some  six  sheets  of  fool's-cap,  covered  in  Morgy 's  Spen- 
cerian  hand,  with  a  list  of  the  various  interests  that  made 
up  the  Janissary  estate,  opposite  which,  in  ruled  columns, 
was  written  the  value  of  said  interests,  together  with  the 
various  rates  of  interests,  annual  dividends  and  the  like,  ac- 
cruing annually  to  them.  Now  the  second-floor  front 
seemed  too  small  to  contain  the  amount  of  sheets  that  were 
variously  disposed  about  it.  There  were  sheets  of  paper, 
half  stacked  like  cards,  on  every  table  and  chair;  the  floor 
was  as  completely  covered  with  them  as  was  the  studio 
roof  opposite  with  snow;  they  leaned  against  the  Carrara 
marbles  and  the  ormolu  clock  on  the  mantel;  Axtell  had 
a  bundle  of  them  in  his  lap;  and  the  gray  film  that  covered 
the  burning  sea  coal  in  the  grate  testified  to  the  fact  that 
numbers  of  them  had  been  tossed  upon  the  flames. 

And  still  Hilary  and  George  continued  to  contribute  to 
this  plethora! 

Morgenstein  lighted  a  cigarette.  In  the  little  flicker  of 
extra  light,  it  seemed  that  the  two  compilers  of  statistics 
took    an    extra   spurt   forward    before    it    should    expire. 


"TO  THOSE  FROM  WHENCE  IT  CAME"  329 

Morgenstein,  smiling  indulgently,  snapped  on  the  current 
into  the  red-shaded  electric  lamp.  The  decided  change  in 
conditions  caused  the  two  to  pause  and  look  up. 

"Confound  you,  old  chap,"  said  Hilary  irritably,  "you've 
spoiled  a  jolly  good  bit  of  compound  interest  I  was  doing  on 
K.,  J.,  &  W.  Preferred.  Why  can't  you  leave  a  fellow 
in  peace?" 

"The  'Oiltown  City  Securities'  'ull  bring  us  jest  $170,000 
a  year  by  themselves,"  stated  George  with  great  satisfaction, 
wetting  the  point  of  his  pencil  to  make  a  bit  of  fancy  scroll 
work  under  his  latest  subtrahend.  "Guess  that's  going 
some  for  one  little  block  of  stock?     Guess  it's  bad?" 

"That's  nothing  to  'Petersfield  Oil,'"  returned  Morgen- 
stein with  the  superiority  of  one  who  has  not  wasted  his 
talents  for  mathematics  on  a  bagatelle;  "it's  good  for  jest 
three  times  that  —  a  million  a  year  from  one  piece  of 
property.  Boys,  I  tell  you,  I  can't  git  it  through  my  nut! 
It  all  sounds  like  th'  bimk  to  me!  I  can't  believe  there's  that 
much  money  in  the  world  —  a  million  a  year  jest  out  of 
Petersfield !  When  we  come  to  add  up  th'  total  of  these  here 
incomes,  we'll  all  about  drop  dead.  Can't  seem  possible 
that  one  man's  goin'  to  have  so  much  money  —  one 
manl " 

"One  man's  not  to  have  it,"  called  out  Axtell  peremptorily 
from  the  window.  "Don't  start  that  sort  of  talk,  Morgy, 
or  you'll  be  using  it  when  the  boy  comes  in.  It's  no  more 
his  than  it's  ours!  Isn't  this  a  company?  Don't  we  share 
and  share  alike?  Don't  let  me  hear  you  talking  like  that 
again,  you  black-muzzled,  cliff-dwelling  kike!  And  don't 
be  acting  as  if  you  weren't  used  to  big  money,  or  else  the 


330  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

boy  will  put  it  all  over  you.  We  've  got  enough  of  persuading 
to  do  as  it  is.'* 

"Oh,  'can'  all  that,  Axtell,"  broke  in  Le  Fay.  "Steve's 
not  goin'  to  try  to  git  away  from  the  regular  agreement 
between  th'  gang.  He  knows  we  '11  all  share  on  this  jest  as 
we  shared  on  everything  else!  I 'd  like  to  see  him  try  to  pull 
any  stuff  about  it  bein'  all  his.     I'd " 

"You'd  what?"  invited  Morgenstein.  "I  suppose  you'd 
tear  right  up  to  him  and  hang  one  on  him,  hey?  Yes,  you 
would!  In  a  pig's  eyel  Nobody  ain't  f ergot  the  rat  way 
you  acted  last  night,  George.  But  when  it  comes  to  talkin', 
anybuddy  'ud  think  Jeffries  was  still  a  'comer' !  But,  say ! 
Ain't  it  great?  Ain't  it  wonderful?  I  can't  git  over  it! 
Why,  say,  with  our  brains  and  all  that  money,  we'll  about 
rule  the  earth.  Think  of  me  with  a  police  record  as  long  as  a 
Missouri  search  warrant  bossin'  that  Wall  Street  gang,lendin' 
money  to  th'  United  States  treasury  when  it's  broke,  and 
givin'  kings  and  emperors  the  haughty  eye  when  they  want 
to  make  a  touch.  I  guess  since  th'  beginnin'  of  time 
there  never  was  such  a  deep  heel  as  this  one,  boys!" 

Hilary,  whose  eontemplation  of  his  own  reward  of  virtue 
had  been  so  pleasing  that  he  sat  smiling  silently,  now  looked 
up  reprovingly. 

"Incidentally,  I  should  suggest,  dear  old  chap,  that, 
since  your  social  position  is  going  to  undergo  such  a  radical 
change,  you  endeavour  to  cure  yourself  of  some  of  your 
eccentric  forms  of  speech.  'Deep  heel,'  indeed!  You 
positively  embarrassed  me  while  Mr.  Fillimore  was  here! 
If  you  don't  watch  out,  they're  liable  to  suspect  that 
Janissary's  was  no  chance  robbery." 


•*T0  THOSE  FROM  WHENCE  IT  CAME"  S31 

"Very  square  of  old  Trompey  not  to  pull  anything  about 
us,  wasn't  it?  Oh,  all  right,  Hil;  I'll  watch  out  for  the 
*  wise-cracking'  stuff.  I  don't  pull  much  of  it  anyhow 
except  when  I'm  excited.  But,  say;  the  first  thing  we'll 
have  to  do  —  all  of  us  —  is  to  call  a  board  meeting  of 
Amalgamated  and  all  the  other  things  we're  interested 
in,  and  elect  ourselves  into  the  principal  offices,  'cause  if 
we're  going  to  'slough'  our  'make,'  we've  gotta  keep  our 
eyes  open  for  them  guys;  they're  the  wise  little  poodles 
when  it  comes  to  their  own  game  and  we're  going  to  be 
typical  suckers  at  it  when  we  start  in,  and,  if  we  don't 
look  out,  they'll  trim  us  for  the  bank  roll,  hey?" 

George  le  Fay  looked  up  from  his  scroll  work  with  a  glance 
of  infinite  cunning. 

"That's  th'  first  wise  crack  I've  heard  out  of  you  in 
years,  Morgy !  You  bet  they  '11  trim  us,  and  I,  for  one,  ain  't 
goin'  to  give  them  a  chance.  I'm  goin'  to  sell  out,  I  am. 
No  playin'  any  new  game  for  me.  I've  got  a  wife  and 
kids  to  consider  and  I'm  takiu'  no  chances  with  my 
money ! " 

Axtell,  who  had  been  remarkably  tractable  during  the 
entire  day,  for  even  he  had  been  stunned  into  good  nature 
by  the  thought  of  having  a  share  in  so  vast  a  fortune,  inter- 
rupted with  one  of  his  old  familiar  roars. 

"Your  money,  you  petty-larceny,  cross-town  *gun,*'* 
he  bellowed  in  fierce  contempt.  "Your  money!  Don't 
get  so  free  with  your  money  until  you  get  it.  And,  before 
you  get  it,  you'll  sign  the  papers  to  stick  to  us  or  Stephen 
will  hear  how  you  acted  last  night  and  then  what  you'll  get 
won't  make  a  polo  cap  for  a  humming-bird;  understand?" 


332  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

"How  you  ever  got  in  with  a  *  gun-mob '  gets  me,  George," 
augmented  Morgenstein,  echoing  their  leader's  scorn. 

"Selling  socks  over  a  counter  would  be  hazardous  to  a 
man  of  your  disposition,  Le  Fay,"  sneered  Hilary.  "Here, 
when  we  have  the  chance  to  rank  with  the  rulers  of  the  earth, 
you  talk  about  your  blessed  brats  and  'missus'!  Haven't 
you  any  pride,  dear  old  chap?  any  ambition?  Doesn't  your 
blood  tingle  even  the  slightest  bit  when  you  stop  to  think 
that  we  four  men  who  have  been  spending  our  lives  in  eternal 
fear  of  the  law  now  are  raised  absolutely  above  that  law! 
Why  we  can  do  anything !  We  're  more  powerful  than  the 
Senate  and  the  President  put  together!  Think  of  what 
Stephen  Janissary  was,  and  then  think  of  what  we'll  be! 
Everything  that  he  was  and  all  that  we  can  do  ourselves 
added  to  that!  Why  it's  stupendous,  colossal!  Never  in 
the  history  of  the  world  did  a  thing  like  this  happen  before. 
And  you  talk  about  your  wife  and  your  brats!  Why  we 
should  be  able  to  rule  this  whole  blooming  country  if  we  go 
about  it  rightly,  and  I  don 't  mind  telling  you  that  I  shall 
have  a  shot  at  it!  And  I  shan't  let  you  interfere,  my  lad. 
Mark  that!" 

What  reply  Le  Fay  might  have  made  —  and  which  really 
would  not  have  mattered  anyway  —  they  were  never  given 
an  opportunity  of  learning;  for,  afterward,  it  was  unneces- 
sary, and,  at  the  time,  it  was  prevented  by  the  entrance  of 
Decima  Duress  —  a  different  Decima  this  from  the  girl 
Stephen  had  first  seen  on  the  Mauradriatic,  for  about 
her  there  seemed  to  have  lingered  no  trace  of  the  child- 
woman.  Not  knowing,  one  might  have  guessed  her  age 
far  beyond  the  years  that  were  hers,  for  her  eyes  shone  with 


"TO  THOSE  FROM  WHENCE  IT  CAME"  333 

a  light  that  reflected  a  soul  at  peace  with  all  the  world;  the 
happiness  of  wisdom,  not  the  sudden  enthusiastic  joy  of  the 
very  young. 

Hilary  remembered  that  he  had  thought  of  her  as  "little." 
Now  she  gave  no  such  impression.  The  attitude  of  "pro- 
tection" that  men  like  to  assume  toward  women  was  not 
one  to  indulge  in  now.  Rather,  one  would  have  turned  to 
her  for  protection. 

"Stephen  is  paying  the  cabman,"  she  said,  including  all 
of  them  in  her  bow  and  grave  smile,  and  then  added, 
directing  her  words  to  Hilary,  "We  are  married.  I 
came  ahead  to  thank  you,  Mr.  Quackenbos,  and  you,  too, 
Mr.  Axtell,  for  all  that  you  have  taught  Stephen.  The 
method  may  have  been  unusual  but  the  result  is  wonderful. 
I  only  hope  I  am  worthy  to  be  Stephen's  helpmate  in  the 
great  work  that  has  been  given  us  to  do." 

The  Englishman  and  the  paralytic  exchanged  uneasy 
glances  at  her  words,  presaging  as  they  did  additional 
difliculties  in  the  task  of  persuading  Stephen  to  the  view 
points  of  Mr.  Fillimore  and  his  associates.  Quackenbos 
arose  and  would  have  assisted  her  in  the  removal  of  her  coat 
but  she  shook  her  head. 

"No,  we  only  came  to  tell  you  of  our  marriage.  There 
is  too  much  work  for  us  to  do,  and  besides  we  must  leave  the 
city  in  less  than  an  hour  —  get  away  from  people  and  things 
until  the  funeral;  it's  in  three  days  and,  of  course,  we  must 
be  there.  In  those  three  days,  we'll  try  to  plan  out  the 
details  of  what  we  are  going  to  do  so  that  we  can  tell  the 
pubUc;  so  we're  going  to  a  little  shooting  chalet  I  own,  away 
from  everybody.    Here's  Stephen  now!" 


334  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

The  chaffing  greetings  to  which  it  had  been  the  intention 
of  those  present  to  add  humorous  congratulations,  were 
born  in  thoughts  but  not  in  words.  Three  of  the  four  men 
sat  silent  regarding  this  stranger,  who,  with  mild  but  earnest 
eyes,  stood  regarding  them,  smiling  affectionately.  His 
presence  seemed  to  dwarf  them  into  men  of  mean  stature, 
into  regarding  themselves  mentally  as  creatures  of  another, 
and  very  limited,  sphere  from  the  one  in  which  he  moved. 
Always  huge  of  frame,  he  now  seemed  gigantic. 

Only  Axtell,  who,  if  men  may  lack  souls,  was  soul- 
less, spoke: 

"Lucky  boy,  Stephen!  You've  got  the  wife  you  wanted, 
and  the  money  you  need  to  carry  on  your  work.  Double 
congratulations.     If   any   man   deserved  luck,   you  did!" 

Stephen  shook  his  head,  his  gesture  humble. 

"No,  no,  Mr.  Axtell,  I'm  afraid  you  are  all  prejudiced  in 
my  favour.  Decima's  done  her  best  to  convince  me,  aided 
by  Rag,  that  I  am  something  above  the  common  run  of  men, 
too.  But  I'm  afraid  not.  To-day  has  sobered  me;  made 
me  realize  my  unworthiness.  From  now  on,  I  must  try, 
night  and  day,  to  remember  that  I  have  been  given  what  only 
a  few  other  men  on  earth  have — the  absolute  control  of  many 
millions  of  men  and  women.  If  they  starve,  bodily  or  men- 
tally, I  am  to  blame.  In  one  breath  I  must  thank  some 
Higher  Power  for  a  wonderful  chance  and  pray  to  Him  for 
help  and  guidance,  for  alone  I  am  not  equal  to  it,  and  my 
enthusiasms  may  bring  harm  instead  of  good." 

"It  will  be  sure  enough  good,  have  no  fear!"  cried  a  glee- 
ful voice  from  the  door  that  the  company  knew  for  Rag 
O'Brien's  before  they  looked  up  to  see. 


"TO  THOSE  FROM  WHENCE  IT  CAME"   335 

"No,  Rag,"  Stephen  corrected  him  gently.  "Only  good 
as  I  see  it.  Don't  try  to  exalt  me,  keep  me  humble;  tell 
me  of  my  deficiencies  and  my  lack  of  knowledge;  correct 
me  when  I  go  wrong,  which  will  be  many  times.  Remember 
that  Stephen,  your  companion,  may  be  good  of  heart  but 
very  deficient  in  wisdom.     I  need  counsel,  not  praise." 

"Exactly,  my  boy,"  broke  in  Axtell,  to  whom  no  subcon- 
scious revelation  had  come  as  to  the  others.  His  influence 
was  so  strong  upon  George  le  Fay  that  cupidity  overbalanced 
that  gentleman's  wiser  self  and  he  echoed  acquiescence. 
Stephen  turned  inquiring  glances  upon  them  both,  but  Le 
Fay  *s  eyes  refused  to  meet  his. 

"  Wheel  me  to  the  fire,"  Axtell  added,  and  Stephen  was 
before  the  others  to  do  him  the  sennce.  "Now,  listen, 
Stephen;  I'm  glad  to  see  your  head  isn't  turned  by  getting 
all  this  money.  It's  a  great  compliment  to  your  own  nat- 
ure, and  the  way  we  brought  you  up.  You're  a  bright  man, 
of  course,  and  a  brave  one;  but  to  manage  an  estate  like 
Stephen  Janissary 's  requires  years  of  business  training.  So 
Hilary  has  drawn  up  some  papers  which  we'll  aU  sign  before 
you  go  away  on  that  trip  of  yours.  These  papers  turn  the 
Janissary  estate  into  a  sort  of  joint-stock  company.  You're 
the  president,  of  course.  I'm  vice-president  and  treasurer, 
Hilary  is  the  secretary,  and  Morgy  and  George  are  on  the 
board  of  directors  with  us.  We've  decided  —  and  I'm 
glad  to  see  you  show  signs  of  agreeing  with  us  —  that,  for 
the  present,  it's  best  to  leave  your  father's  affairs  just  ex- 
actly as  they  are,  except  that,  of  course,  you'll  have  to  call 
a  meeting  of  Amalgamated  and  the  other  affairs  you're 
interested  in,  and  elect  yourself,  by  virtue  of  the  stock  you 


336  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

hold,  to  your  father's  various  offices.  Then,  after  that  — 
of  course  /  won 't  be  able  to  take  any  active  share  —  you 
can  appoint  Hilary,  George,  and  Morgy  to  such  positions 
as  will  guard  our  interests.  But,  as  far  as  the  investments 
are  concerned,  you  could  hardly  hope  to  place 
your  money  to  better  advantage;  of  course  you  agree 
to  that?" 

Stephen  had  been  regarding  him  with  wonderment  that 
grew,  as  Axtell's  speech  continued,  to  inexpressible  amaze- 
ment. Had  the  paralytic  been  less  engrossed  with  the  web 
of  his  own  weaving,  he  would  have  spared  himself  the 
trouble  of  continuing: 

"Of  course,  the  income,  which  will  be  equally  divided  into 
five  parts  —  as  usual  in  the  company 's  affairs  —  will  be 
devoted  to  our  living  expenses,  and,  after  that,  to  the  chari- 
ties each  one  of  us  fancies  the  most.  We  shall  be  really  able 
to  do  some  good  now,  Stephen,"  he  added,  pandering  to  the 
trait  in  the  young  man's  nature  that  had  always  brought 
great  results  before.  "It  will  be  a  great  happiness  to  us  all 
to  know  that  we  can." 

Rag  laughed  outright;  nor  was  it  a  merely  casual  laugh, 
but  one  that  began  with  a  roar  and  seemed  to  grow  into  a 
gale.  Decima's  grave  smile  deepened.  Hilary,  possessed  of 
no  risibilities  worth  chronicling,  stared;  but  Morgenstein 
shook  his  head  and  chuckled,  albeit  rather  grimly.  Axtell  's 
anger  found  companionship  only  in  Le  Fay 's. 

"You — "  he  began,  but  what  anathemas  he  would  have 
coupled  with  O'Brien's  name  were  still-born  on  his  lips 
when  he  encountered  Stephen's  gaze  in  which  sorrow  and 
astoundment  were  equally  present.     He  paused,  as  might 


"TO  THOSE  FROM  WHENCE  IT  CAME"  337 

a  man  in  an  armoury  with  an  eccentric  enemy  beating  on  the 
door  outside,  to  select  a  suitable  weapon. 

"You're  joking,  aren't  you,  Mr.  Axtell?"  asked  Stephen 
quietly. 

"Joking?  Joking  about  what?"  demanded  the  paralytic, 
endeavouring  to  make  up  in  fury  for  what  he  lacked  in  force. 

"Why,  about  everything!    Aren't  you?" 

"For  instance;  what?    Explain!" 

"Why,  I  won't  explain,  because  I  don't  believe  you  are 
in  earnest,  Mr.  Axtell !  About  the  investments,  for  instance; 
as  if,  for  a  single  instant,  you,  or  any  of  us,  would  allow 
Amalgamated  to  exist  a  moment  after  you  took  control. 
As  if  you  wouldn't  break  it  up  into  all  the  little  companies 
of  which  it  was  originally  composed  —  after  the  way  all  of 
us  have  railed  at  the  trusts  and,  particularly,  that  trust.  The 
moment  I  take  control,  I'll  dispose  of  Amalgamated  right 
enough !  This  time  next  week,  there  won 't  be  any  such  thing ! ' ' 

"Break  up  Amalgamated?"  echoed  Axtell  in  a  white 
heat  of  strenuously  polite  scorn.  "Ha!  Very  good  that! 
Pray  go  on!    And,  why,  pray?" 

"Because,  to  begin  with,  it's  against  the  law  for  such  a 
monstrosity  to  exist,  as  you  and  every  one  else  here  has  told 
me  innumerable  times!  If  I  have  the  power  to  break  it  up, 
and  I  permit  it  to  go  on  existing,  I  simply  encourage  other 
men  to  form  more  trusts.  Besides,  as  it  stands  to-day,  I 
would  be  unable  to  administer  its  affairs  legally  and  justly. 
I  must  resolve  it  into  its  hundred  corporations.  At  the  head 
of  each  of  those  corporations,"  he  went  on  eagerly,  his  eyes 
taking  on  the  flame  of  one  who  is  inspired,  "I  shall  place 
a  man  who  has  proven  his  administrative  ability  and  his 


338  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

honest  unselfishness  even  if  I  have  to  send  to  England  and 
import  the  entire  Fabian  Society.  My  stock  will  then  be 
divided  among  the  workers  in  my  fields  and  factories  in 
proportion  to  the  value  of  the  work  that  they  do,  so  that 
each  man  will  be  a  stockholder,  earning  in  proportion  to 
the  gains  of  the  corporation  itself  —  although  I  shall  retain 
all  the  voting  privileges  that  go  with  that  stock  myself, 
because,  you  see,"  he  explained  in  extenuation  of  what  he 
feared  might  appear  somewhat  autocratic,  "I  have  no  con- 
fidence in  their  ability  to  select  the  right  men  to  administer 
their  affairs,  and  I  am  taking  no  chances  of  my  excellent 
system  falling  to  pieces  through  the  stupidity  of  those  it  is 
intended  to  benefit.  And,  if  I  gave  them  the  voting  priv- 
ileges, they  would  undoubtedly  elect  to  office  those  who 
would  flatter  them  most  —  and  such  men  are  never  honest !  '* 

"But  you  aren't  going  to  let  the  stupid  ones  handle  all 
their  own  money,  Stephen,  you  know,"  Decima  put  in 
anxiously,  misinterpreting  the  hostile  attitude  of  Axtell. 
Stephen  smiled,  thanking  her  with  his  eyes. 

"No,  naturally  not,  dearest.  I'm  glad  you  reminded  me. 
You  see,  Axtell,  in  a  cooperative  scheme  such  as  I  plan  for 
my  workmen  and  associates,  everybody  will  have  to  do  their 
share.  Of  course,  I  realize  the  danger  in  building  up  a  be- 
nevolent autocracy.  I  understand  we  must  take  the  chance 
of  the  next  generation  of  rulers  not  being  benevolent;  but 
I  can  only  act  according  to  my  lights.  First  of  all,  every- 
body who  works  for  me  must  be  properly  housed,  fed,  and 
have  suitable  educational  privileges  for  themselves  and  their 
children.  For  that  reason,  I  shall  have  to  realize  on  some 
of  my  properties  and  get  a  vast  amount  in  ready  cash  in 


"TO  THOSE  FROM  WHENCE  IT  CAME"  339 

order  to  start  operations;  so  I  shall  sell  all  my  railroad 
holdings.  I  select  those  to  sell  because  I  could  never  be 
supreme  in  railroads,  anyhow,  and,  moreover,  that  is  more 
government  business  than  mine.  With  the  money  I  realize, 
I  shall  build  block  after  block  of  model  tenements  (flats  in 
every  sense  of  the  word,  of  course),  cottages  in  the  indus- 
trial small  towns,  corporation  hospitals,  and  corporation 
churches  —  and  in  the  latter  I  '11  have  really  religious  men. 
The  workmen  in  my  employ  must  live  in  these  model  tene- 
ments or  model  cottages,  and  help  support  the  corporation 
hospitals,  churches,  and  schools.  I  '11  have  schools  for  both 
grown-up  folks  and  children  where  truth  will  be  taught  —  ab- 
solute truth,  the  truth  as  you,  my  friends,  all  of  you,  have 
taught  it  to  me;  so  that  when  I  and  my  generation  of  assist- 
ants and  associates  die,  the  people  I  have  trained  will  be  too 
sophisticated  to  listen  to  their  flatterers.  Religion  and 
education  will  be  used  to  help  and  enlighten,  not  to  retard 
and  deceive.  And  the  central  point  of  my  educative  sys- 
tem will  be  a  great  college  to  which  those  children  who 
show  marked  signs  of  intelligence  will  be  sent  and  educated 
in  return  for  service  rendered  while  there;  for  out  of  these 
we  will  have  to  choose  our  future  executives.  There  will  be 
no  poverty  among  those  who  work  for  me,  for  no  one  who  is 
willing  to  work  eight  hours  a  day  will  be  paid  less  than  will 
enable  him  to  have  what  he  actually  needs  to  be  clean, 
warm,  well  fed,  and  intelligently  instructed.  My  whole 
system  is  founded  on  cooperation  and  the  minimum  wage. 
You  remember  how  we  talked  about  that  when  I  was  a 
little  boy.  Rag?  I  wrote  it  down  in  a  diary  once!  It's 
never  gone  out  of  my  head,  that  minimum  wage  thing! 


340  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

Just  what  the  minimum  wage  shall  be  will  depend  on  local- 
ity, conditions,  and  so  forth;  it  is  one  of  the  many  matters 
that  will  take  a  lot  of  study,  adjustment,  and  readjustment. 
As  we  build  up  our  system,  the  question  of  intelligent 
amusements  —  theatres,  concerts,  and  the  like  —  will  also 
shape  itself  into  endowments.  But,  first  of  all,  we  must 
consider  the  home  and  the  schools.  To  me,  as  head  of  the 
system  will  naturally  accrue  enormous  revenues.  I  will 
endeavour  to  use  these  to  perfect  the  system.  Oh,  I  know," 
he  said  with  a  deprecating  smile,  "the  work  before  me  is 
gigantic,  enormous,  unending;  but  it  is  beautiful  work  and 
the  years  will  pass  very  swiftly.  I  will  make  mistakes,  and 
regret  them  bitterly,  but  no  one  will  be  able  to  say  I  have 
not  done  my  best.    And  that's  all  a  man  can  do,  isn't  it?" 

In  the  excess  of  his  fury,  as  he  tried  to  wrench  from  him- 
sdf  words  that  his  evil  anger  choked  in  his  gullet,  Axtell 
actually  lifted  himself  bodily  in  his  chair,  and,  had  Stephen 
not  been  close  at  hand  to  catch  him,  must  have  fallen 
forward  into  the  fire.  This  fate  averted,  he  lay  back  in  his 
chair  gasping  stiU  for  breath  that  would  enable  him  to  ex- 
coriate his  pupil  of  his  beliefs,  yet  finding,  in  his  mind,  only 
expressions  of  horrible  hatred  for  one  whom  he  saw  now  as 
the  exemplar  of  all  that  he  most  despised. 

"The  people,"  he  breathed  finally;  "the  people!  Oh, 
my  good  God !  how  they  '11  strip  you  of  every  cent,  you  fool, 
you  prince  of  fools.  The  people!  The  people!  Oh,  give 
me  some  water  or  I'll  choke!" 

"Mr.  Axtell,"  said  Stephen  gently,  "you  know  that  you 
don't  mean  what  you  say.  Why  everything  I  am,  you  have 
made  me.    All  the  good  that  is  in  me  is  yours.     If  I  had 


"TO  THOSE  FROM  WHENCE  IT  CAME"  341 

grown  up  as  my  father's  son,  I  might  have  been  like  him  — 
thinking  only  of  himself,  careless,  scornful,  of  the  people. 
But  now  I  'm  fit  to  serve  them." 

"You're  mad;  insane.  I'll  have  you  put  in  Matteawan. 
Any  committee  of  medical  men  would  send  you  there  if 
you  gave  them  any  such  scheme  to  consider  seriously.  I 
tell  you  you're  crazy,  Stephen.  This  fortune  has  unsettled 
your  brain.  Go  away  and  stay  away  until  you  forget 
these  mad  SociaUstic  ideas " 

" Mad  Socialistic  ideas;  oh,  no,  Mr.  Axtell!  You  can't 
say  that!  Why  from  the  time  I  was  old  enough  to  think, 
you've  drilled  these  *mad  Socialistic'  ideas  into  my  head. 
When  I  was  a  youngster,  I  used  to  go  to  sleep  listening  to  you 
talk  about  the  inhumanity  of  man  to  man;  you  kept 
me  awake,  night  after  night,  to  tell  me  about  them.  The 
fortime  has  unsettled  your  brain,  not  mine.  You  are  the 
one  to  go  away  to  the  mountains  and  stay  there,  and  forget 
all  these  mad  capitalistic  ideas!" 

In  the  glance  that  passed  between  Axtell  and  Hilary 
Quackenbos,  it  was  plain  that  the  older  man  looked  upon 
Hilary  as  one  who  had  his  duty  yet  to  do.  The  Englishman, 
therefore,  cleared  his  throat. 

"You  see,  dear  old  chap,"  he  tried  to  explain,  endeavour- 
ing to  give  an  air  of  easy  reasonableness  to  what  he  was  say- 
ing, "like  you,  when  both  Axtell  and  I  were  younger,  we 
believed  ourselves  qualified  to  instruct  kings  and  parlia- 
ments, presidents  and  congresses,  about  government.  Since 
then  we've  grown  wiser;  we've  realized  that  things  have 
always  gone  on  this  way;  that  it  is  useless  to  try  to  change 
them.     What  the  world  is,  the  people  in  it  make  it.    We 


342  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

can't  change  the  people;  therefore,  we  can't  change 
the  world." 

"Oh,  but  you  can  change  the  people,"  demurred  Stephen 
immediately.  "Look  how  you  changed  me!  Thmk  of 
what  I  would  have  been  without  your  instruction;  and 
then  think  what  a  million  children  will  be  when  they  are 
instructed  as  I  was.  No,  no,  Hilary!  You  began  as  a 
brave  man;  you  don't  want  to  end  as  a  coward!  Don't 
give  up  the  fight!  Stick  to  me.  What  we've  got  to  teach 
the  people  is  that  the  only  true  happiness  comes  from  making 
others  happy:  that  those  who  live  for  themselves  are  like 
the  dumb  beasts  who  know  only  comfort  —  not  happiness. 
The  world  is  made  by  those  in  it,  you  say.  Quite  right! 
I'm  in  it  and  I've  got  a  chance  to  make  it  different!  And 
I  shall!  And  so  this  argument  ends — :  right  here!  The 
Janissary  estate  is  mine  —  positively  mine !  I  shall  admin- 
ister it  for  the  people  —  to  whom  it  rightfully  belongs.  Are 
you  with  me  or  against  me  ?    That 's  all  I  came  here  to  know ! ' ' 

Morgenstein  crossed  the  room  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"Duke  me,  Steve!"  he  said  huskily.  "You're  a  regular 
fella!  If  a  young  Jewish  boy's  appearance  ain't  against 
him  in  this  here  Christian  movement,  I  beg  leave  to 
git  on  the  band  wagon.  I  told  you  fellas,"  he  added,  turn- 
ing with  a  smile  to  the  scowling  three,  "I  told  you  before 
about  that  there  guy  that  made  another  guy  —  Finkelstein 
was  it?  —  who  afterward  got  too  big  for  him  to  handle  and 
he  was  afraid  all  the  time  he'd  croak  him!  Well,  I  ain't 
takin*  no  chances  with  this  here  Finkelstein  of  ours.  I'm 
fur  him  very  strong  while  I  've  got  th'  chance  tuh  be.  Bet- 
ter come  in,  boys,  th'  water's  fine  —  at  present!" 


"TO  THOSE  FROM  WHENCE  IT  CAME"  343 

"Of  course  you  know  where  I  stand,"  remarked  Rag,  tak- 
ing Stephen's  other  hand.  "And  right  here  is  where  I  beg 
leave  to  remark  that  all  you  guys  oughta  be  blamed  glad 
that  instid  of  makin*  a  crook  out  of  Steve,  you  've  made  th* 
grandest  little  fella  on  earth.  Now,  come  on,  be  sports! 
He's  only  foUowin'  your  dope,  you  know!" 

"What  I  wanta  know,"  said  George  le  Fay,  after  a  long 
interval  of  silence,  "is  where  I  git  off?" 

"Why,  that's  very  simple,  George,"  returned  Stephen,,* 
with  a  laugh.  "You'd  be  chief  inspector  of  the  factories. 
There  isn't  a  cheating  dodge  that  you  don't  know,  and  if 
somebody  invented  one  you'd  be  the  first  to  find  it  out. 
Your  job  would  be  to  see  that  nobody  tried  to  get  more  than 
what  was  really  coming  to  him  and  your  salary  would  be  a 
hanged  sight  more  than  you  ever  earned.    Are  you  on?" 

"Well,"  returned  George,  after  some  study  of  the  matter, 
"I  guess  anyway  I'd'a'  balled  up  my  affairs  if  I  had  got  that 
chunk  of  dough  I  was  expectin*.  Somebody  'ud  about 
sold  me  the  Flatiron  Buildin'  or  a  rubber  plantation  in 
Honduras,  I  guess.  Why,"  he  exclaimed  with  sudden 
enthusiasm,  "I'd  like  to  see  one  of  those  ginks  get  my  goat 
with  any  'phony  work  in  them  factories!" 

He,  too,  extended  the  palm  of  comradeship.  One  might 
have  found  in  the  production  of  Stephen's  cigarette  case, 
the  moderni25ed  offering  of  the  pipe  of  peace,  for  even  George, 
who  detested  the  paper  tubes  from  inherited  middle-class 
prejudices,  accepted  one. 

Axtell  foimd  that  the  renegades  were  eying  him  rather 
curiously,  for  they  knew  that,  as  he  went,  so  did  Hilary, 
a  curious   attachment  —  which  was   not   friendship  but 


344  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

custom — existing  between  these  two,  the  original  members  of 
the  gang.  Rapidly,  and  with  the  bitterness  of  one  who  has 
planned  too  well  and  found  his  own  weapons  used  against 
him,  Axtell  ran  over  the  history  of  the  assembled  company 
from  its  inception  to  this,  the  end!  Where  was  the  great 
revenge  that  he  was  to  have  wreaked  upon  all  human  nature? 
As  Stephen  Janissary  had  failed  through  his  lack  of  love  for 
his  fellow  men,  so,  almost  as  disastrously,  had  Axtell.  As 
the  lily  springs  from  the  green  slime  of  the  cesspool,  as  the 
rose  creeps  forth  from  the  dung  heap,  striving  to  make  up 
for  their  surroundings  with  their  super-sweetness,  so  had  the 
foul  garden  of  his  hatred  nourished  a  plant  that  had 
blossomed  into  flowers  that  would  heal  the  hurts  of  the 
world. 

The  fortune  was  Stephen's;  he  was  The  Law.  There  was 
no  appeal.  But  one  last  bit  of  venom  was  in  his  throat 
and  he  spat  it  forth. 

"My  lord,"  he  said,  bringing  down  his  head  in  a  mock 
obeisance;  "perhaps  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  tell  Hilary 
and  me  what  you  will  allow  us  to  be?  " 

Hilary  nodded  and  spoke  seriously: 

**Yes,  dear  old  chap;  don't  forget  that!  Something 
must  become  of  us,  you  know!    What?" 

Stephen  tossed  away  his  cigarette  and  held  out  both  his 
hands  to  Decima.  For  the  moment  both  lost  their  gravity; 
their  smiles  were  gay. 

"Sweetheart,  will  you  tell  them  what  we  were  thinking 
of  doing  with  them?" 

Decima  nestled  into  his  arms  and  looked  at  Axtell  and 
Hilary  over  her  shoulder. 


"TO  THOSE  FROM  WHENCE  IT  CAME"  845 

"Well,"  she  said,  her  eyes  whimsical,  "you  remember 
that  college,  Mr.  Quackenbos  —  and  you,  Mr.  Axtell  —  that 
college  where  the  children  are  going  to  be  sent  for  their 
higher  education?  Do  you?  Well,  Stephen  thought  —  and 
I  did  too  — that " 

The  joke  was  too  tremendous  for  her  to  carry;  but  there 
was  bitterness  in  Stephen,  bitterness  recalled  by  Axtell's 
attempt  of  the  night  before  to  force  him  to  continue  a  thief 
for  no  reason  save  the  financial  betterment  of  himself  and 
his  friends.  It  was  the  last  savage  thwack  of  the  boomerang, 
for  Stephen  knew  it  would  show  Axtell  that,  at  last,  he 
understood  just  how  complete  was  his  defeat,  and  how  com- 
pletely he  had  brought  it  upon  himself;  the  sort  of  acid 
humour  that  would  bum  in  his  memory. 

"Well,  it's  like  this,"  he  said  quietly,  staring  at  Axtell 
directly.  "As  this  college  is  founded  to  teach  your  own 
principles  —  the  ones  you  taught  me  —  I  really  can't  see 
how  I  can  do  better  than  make  you  two  its  professors  oi 
political  economy!" 


CHAPTER   XII 

AT  THE  HUNTING  CHALET 

OTEPHEN  pushed  away  his  plate,  smiling  at  the  flushed 
'^  girl  in  the  gingham  apron,  whose  eyes  were  anxious. 
"You  haven't  finished  yet;  oh,  you  mustn't  have,"  she 
pleaded.     "I  have  some  of  the  loveliest  dessert!'* 

"We'll  eat  it  later,  dear,  for  supper.  You  haven't  any 
right  to  be  so  good  a  housewife,  Dessie '* 

"You  promised,  when  we  first  met,  that  you'd  never  call 
we  that,'*  she  said  reproachfully.  "  When  Decima  is  such  a 
pretty  name !  And  so  unusual !  But  you  can't  tell  the  differ- 
ence between  'Dessie'  and  'Bessie' —  and  that's  a  theatrical 
sort  of  name,  I  think  —  Bessie.  Not  a  bit  proper  for  the 
wife  of  the  great  philanthropist,  Mr.  Stephen  Janissary " 

She  paused,  looking  at  him  alarmed. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter,  Stephen?" 

"The  name,"  he  returned  with  a  twisted  smile.  "It's 
the  bitter  part  of  the  inheritance.  Decima,  dear,  it's  really 
awfully  hard  to  realize  that  a  man  named  'Janissary'  may 
be  good.     Sometimes,  I'm  afraid  the  name  will  change  me." 

She  came  over  and  stood  behind  him,  lightly  kissing  the 
top  of  his  head. 

"Silly  boy!    Superstitious!    Better  have  some  dessert!" 

946 


AT  THE  HUNTING  CHALET  347 

He  turned,  regarding  her  with  whimsical  tenderness. 

"What  a  curious  idea  —  sending  all  the  servants  away 
from  the  place!  You're  quite  a  wonderful  person;  I  don't 
think  I've  any  right  to  nickname  you." 

She  became  suddenly  serious. 

"It  was  to  be  with  you;  to  have  you  entirely  to  myself  — 
to  do  everything  for  you;  to  be  everything  to  you  —  even 
if  it  was  only  for  a  few  days;  to  think  we  started  that  way! 
When  we're  in  the  city,  I  feel  as  though  you  were  far  away 
from  me  all  the  time!  Oh,  yes,  I  know  —  the  good  of  the 
people!  But  I'm  your  wife,  Stephen,  and  I've  one  favour 
to  ask.  And  you  must  say  yes.  We'll  come  away  like  this 
every  month  for  two  or  three  days;  just  like  we  are  now! 
Forget  everybody  and  everything  and  be  all  in  all  to  one 
another  —  just  sweethearts!  I  promise  you  I'll  be  very 
serious  in  the  city  and  never  complain  when  you  can't  notice 
me.  That's  it,"  she  added  triumphantly,  "I'll  be  *Decima' 
—  Mrs.  Stephen  Janissary  —  but  down  here  I  won't  have 
any  dignity:  I  won't  even  be  a  *Mrs.' —  I'll  let  you  call  me 
'Dessie'  and  say  foolish  things  and  —  Stephen!  aren't  you 
perfectly  happy  just  to  be  with  me?" 

"I  think  I'd  be  happy  anywhere  with  so  accomplished  a 
cook,"  he  smiled  back. 

"Oh,  Stephen,  please  don't  be  so  unromantic.  Just 
think  of  you  and  me  absolutely  alone,  fourteen  miles  from 
everybody  on  one  side,  and  the  ocean  on  the  other  —  nothing 
nearer  than  France  and  Spain  —  with  the  wild  birds  nesting 
in  our  eaves,  and  the  sea's  roar,  and  a  long  stretch  of  white 
beach,  and  pines  —  oh,  I  wish  we  could  just  stay  here  all 
the  rest  of  our  lives ! " 


848  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

She  pulled  down  the  green-shaded  lamp  by  its  arrange- 
ment of  chains,  turned  the  wick  low,  and  blew  out  the  light; 
then  she  drew  him  to  a  window  seat  that  was  enclosed  on 
three  sides  by  latticed  panes. 

It  was  snowing.  They  could  see  the  drifting  flakes  like 
fantastic  elfs  at  play,  whirling  each  after  the  other  in  mad 
merriment,  and  scampering  gaily  out  to  sea  to  join  their 
cousins  of  the  spume  and  the  spindrift,  occasionally,  when 
the  wind  took  hold  of  them,  shooting  straight  off,  high  over 
the  crested  waves,  like  strings  of  white  hornets. 

"You  see  pictures  in  the  fire,"  she  murmured,  "I  see 
them  in  the  snow  —  Santa  Clauses  and  Snow  Queens.** 

"Look  at  the  fire  behind  us,"  he  murmured  back.  "Some- 
how there's  no  life  for  me  without  that  fire.  Look  at  it 
now " 

It  was  rampant  as  though  a  great,  unruly  horse,  im- 
prisoned beneath,  was  tossing  a  wild  red  mane. 

"The  gleam  of  that  behind  our  shutters  is  like  a  hundred 
rubies.  And  the  smoke  is  pouring  out  of  our  chimney  like 
a  stringy  ghost,  sweeping  up  to  the  skies  on  a  broomstick! 
Do  you  know,"  he  said  suddenly,  "I  believe  it  is  because 
you  and  I  are  real  poets,  Decima,  that  we  can  find  the  beauty 
of  things  as  they  are  —  that  we  are  not  evil.  Perhaps  evil 
people  are  only  blind  —  groping  in  their  poor,  mole-like 
way  for  pleasure,  when  pleasure  stands  at  their  very  door 
and  they  do  not  know  enough  to  let  it  in.  What  greater 
happiness  could  any  one  find  than  this.  Two  lovers  —  a 
snowy  night  outside  —  a  great,  warm  fire  within!** 

She  rested  in  his  arms  as  lightly  as  any  snow-flake  might 
find  a  resting  place. 


AT  THE  HUNTING  CHALET  349 

"We  must  teach  them,  that,  Stephen  —  how  to  find 
beauty.  No  worshipper  of  beauty  can  ever  be  evil;  not 
the  beauty  that  distorted  minds  see;  there  can  be  no 
beauty  in  vice,  for  vice  is  unnatural;  but  the  beauty  of  the 
great  real  things!  One  must  love  them  before  one  can 
understand  love.  Love  is  only  the  greatest  appreciation 
of  beauty,  isn't  it,  dear?  " 

"You  mean  that  one  must  have  seen  all  the  beauty  and 
understood  it  before  one  knows  there  is  such  a  thing  as  a 
soul  to  love?  As  we  love.  Decimal  I  couldn't  have 
dragged  you  down,  dear.  I  could  not  have  tarnished 
you.  I  have  seen  too  much  of  tarnished  things.  You 
women!"    He  looked  down  at  her,  lovingly  yet  sadly. 

"If  they  were  like  you;  if  they  inspired  us  to  the  things 
that  are  real!  There  are  not  many  like  you,  dear;  worse 
luck!    I'm  lucky.    Lord,  how  lucky." 

The  shrilling  note  of  the  wind  and  the  tearing  crackle 
of  the  fire  seemed  to  take  on  revolutionary  sounds  in  the 
silence.  The  two  were  beyond  words.  Words  do  not  apply 
to  the  perfect  love;  can  never  catch  the  subtlety  of  it,  for, 
after  all,  words  are  material  things  and,  in  the  love  that 
brings  real  happiness,  there  is  nothing  that  is  material. 

Presently  he  aroused  himself  suflBciently  to  tell  her  that 
a  storm  had  begun,  but  for  no  reason  than  that  he  must 
speak  of  something.  She  nodded  and  sank  back  into  his 
arms  like  a  sleepy  child;  indeed  was  soon  asleep.  He  held 
her  ever  so  lightly,  afraid  that  even  a  twitch  of  his  muscles 
might  disturb  her. 

Outside  the  wind  had  begun  to  howl.    The  breakers 


350  AN  ENEMY  TO  SOCIETY 

pounded  the  beach,  roaring  with  rage  because  they  could 
go  no  farther  but  must  slip  back  to  gain  extra  force.  The 
sea  birds  shrieked  as  they  flew  high  over  the  little  red  and 
black  hunting  chalet;  the  cedars  and  pines  bent  and  bowed 
like  haughty  ladies  with  high-piled  coiffures  at  some  stately 
dance.  Out  at  sea,  skippers  blinked  ominously  at  barom- 
eters. 

And  Stephen,  looking  into  the  fire,  found  a  queer  analogy 
in  the  storm.  That  was  life  without  —  turbulent  life  into 
which  he  must  go  heavily  armoured  in  faith,  enough  for 
both  himself  and  for  the  fragile  girl  who  had  given  herself 
to  him;  life  that  he  must  conquer.  But,  as  they  now 
rested  secure  within  the  little  chdleU  with  no  necessity  for 
battle,  so  should  he  find  respite  often;  for  here,  with  his 
debts  to  the  world  paid,  was  the  perfect  happiness. 

It  was  neither  the  beginning  nor  the  ending  of  things,  this 
love  of  theirs  —  only  protection  against  all  the  ugliness  of 
the  world  —  the  masterpiece  of  the  Great  Painter  upon 
whose  palette  there  had  been  but  one  colour  —  the  colour 
of  the  rose. 


THE  COHTNTRY  UPE  PRESS,   GARDEN  CITY,  N.  Y. 


ll/iflmU«W«l'l,^2°^    LIBRARV 


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11 


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